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ST.  ALBAN'S  ABBEY 


POETICAL  ROMANCE. 


VOL.    I 


GASTON  DE  BLONDEVILLE, 

OR 

THE  COURT  OF  HENRY  III. 
KEEPING    FESTIVAL    IN  ARDENNE, 

&  nominee. 


ST.  ALBANS  ABBEY, 

A  METRICAL  TALE; 
WITH  SOME  POETICAL  PIECES. 


BY  ANNE  RADCLIFFE, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  MYSTERIES  OF  UDOLPHO,"  "  ROMANCE  OF  THE  FOREST, '&«. 
TO    WHICH    IS    PREFIXED 

A  MEMOIR  OF  THE  AUTHOR, 
WITH    EXTRACTS    FROM    HER    JOURNALS. 


IN  FOUR  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  L 

LONDON: 

HENRY  COLBURN,  NEW  BURLINGTON  STREET. 

1826. 


LONDON : 
„IH»    *Y    S.    AND     E.    BENTL.V,     MMHT-.TMM. 


5 


h 


CONTENTS 
OF    THE   FIRST   VOLUME. 


«- 

Page. 

Memoir  of  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe 

i 

GASTON  DE  BLONDEVILLE. 

Jo 

Introduction              ..... 

3 

)$ 

The  First  Day       .                 ... 

•      79 

The  Second  Day      ..... 

.     105 

177898 


MEMOIR 


or    THE 


LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 


MRS.  RADCLIFFE. 


VOL.    I, 


LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 


MRS.  RADCLIFFE. 


The  Life  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe  is  a  pleasing  phe- 
nomenon in  the  literature  of  her  time.  During  a 
period,  in  which  the  spirit  of  personality  has  ex- 
tended its  influence,  till  it  has  rendered  the  habits 
and  conversation  of  authors  almost  as  public  as  their 
compositions,  she  confined  herself,  with  delicate  ap- 
prehensiveness,  to  the  circle  of  domestic  duties  and 
pleasures.  Known  only  by  her  works,  her  name 
was  felt  as  a  spell  by  her  readers.  Among  the 
thousands,  whose  life-blood  curdled  beneath  her 
terrors,  many  little  suspected,  that  the  potent  en- 
chantress was  still  an  inhabitant  of  this  "bright 
and  breathing  world.''1  Even  her  romances,  forming 
a  class  apart  from  all,  which  had  gone  before,  and 
unapproached  by  imitators,  wore  a  certain  air  of 
antiquity,  and  seemed  scarcely  to  belong  to  the 
b2 


4  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

present  age.  Having  long  ceased  to  publish,  she 
acquired  in  her  retreat  the  honours  of  posthumous 
fame.  Her  unbroken  retirement  suggested  to  those, 
who  learned  that  she  still  lived,  a  fancy  that 
something  unhappy  was  connected  with  her  story, 
and  gave  occasion  to  the  most  absurd  and  ground- 
less rumours,  respecting  her  condition.  But,  while 
some  spoke  of  her  as  dead,  and  others  represented 
her  as  afflicted  with  mental  alienation,  she  was 
thankfully  enjoying  the  choicest  blessings  of  life— 
with  a  cheerfulness  as  equable  as  if  she  had  never 
touched  the  secret  springs  of  horror,  and  with  a 
humility  as  genuine  as  though  she  had  not  ex- 
tended the  domain  of  romance,  for  the  delight  and 
the  benefit  of  her  species. 

In  drawing  aside  the  veil  from  the  personal 
course  of  this  celebrated  lady,  her  biographer  can- 
not exhibit  any  of  the  amusing  varieties,  which 
usually  chequer  the  lives  of  successful  authors : 
here  are  no  brilliant  conversational  triumphs ;  no 
elaborate  correspondence  with  the  celebrated,  or 
the  great ;  no  elegant  malice ;  no  anecdotes  of 
patrons  or  rivals ;  none  of  fashion's  idle  pastime, 
nor  of  controversy's  more  idle  business.  Even  the 
great  events  of  Mrs.  RadclinVs  life,  the  successive 
appearances  of  her  novels,  extend  over  a  small  part 
only  of  its  duration.  A  stranger,  witnessing  its 
calm  tenor  of  happiness,  would  little  guess  to  what 
high  and  solemn  inventions  some  of  its  hours  had 
been   devoted ;  yet   the   more   attentive   observer 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  5 

would  perceive,  in  her  ordinary  reflections  and 
pleasures,  indications  of  the  power  so  marvellously 
exerted  in  her  works.  Fortunately,  the  means  of 
watching  the  developement  of  her  faculties  and 
tastes  in  her  daily  pursuits  are  supplied  by  copious 
memorandums  written  on  several  of  her  journeys  ; 
in  which,  among  rich  and  vivid  descriptions,  many 
characteristic  traits  of  sentiment  and  feeling  are 
scattered,  and  her  moral  excellencies  shine  forth  in 
a  lustre  which  warms,  while  it  enlightens. 

Mrs.  RadclifFe  was  born  in  London,  in  July 
1764.  She  was  the  only  child  of  William  and 
Ann  Ward,  persons  of  great  respectability,  who, 
though  engaged  in  trade,  were  allied  to  families 
of  independent  fortune  and  high  character.  She 
was  descended  from  the  family  of  the  De  Witts  of 
Holland.  It  appears,  from  some  of  the  documents 
in  the  hands  of  her  friends,  that  a  member  of  this 
distinguished  house  came  to  England  in  the  reign 
of  Charles  the  First,  under  the  patronage  of  Go- 
vernment, to  execute  a  plan  for  draining  the  fens 
of  Lincolnshire.  The  project  was  interrupted  bv 
the  political  troubles  which  ensued ;  but  its  author 
remained  in  England,  and  passed  the  remainder  of 
his  days  in  a  mansion  near  Hull.  He  brought 
with  him  an  infant  daughter,  named  Amelia,  who 
was  the  mother  of  one  of  Mrs.  RadclinVs  male 
ancestors.  Her  paternal  grandmother  was  the 
sister  of  Cheselden,  the  celebrated  Surgeon,  of 
whose  kindness  her  father  retained  a  lively  recolr 


6  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

lection.  Her  maternal  grandmother  was  Ann 
Oates,  the  sister  of  Doctor  Samuel  Jebb,  of  Strat- 
ford, who  was  the  father  of  Sir  Richard  Jebb  ; 
and  she  was  related,  on  her  mother's  side,  to  Dr. 
Halifax,  Bishop  of  Gloucester,  and  to  Dr.  Halifax, 
Physician  to  the  King.  She  was  instructed  in  all 
womanly  accomplishments  after  the  earlier  fashion 
of  the  time,  but  was  not  exercised  in  the  classics, 
nor  excited  to  pursue  the  studies  necessary  to  form 
the  modern  heroine  of  conversations.  In  childhood, 
her  intelligence  and  docility  won  the  marked  affec- 
tion of  her  relatives,  who  moved  in  a  somewhat 
higher  sphere  than  her  parents,  and  she  passed 
much  of  her  time  at  their  houses.  Her  maternal 
uncle-in-law,  the  late  Mr.  Bentley,  of  the  firm  of 
Wedge  wood  and  Bentley,  was  exceedingly  partial 
to  his  niece,  and  invited  her  often  to  visit  him  at 
Chelsea,  and  afterwards  at  Turnham  Green,  where 
he  resided.  At  his  house  she  enjoyed  the  benefit 
of  seeing  some  persons  of  literary  eminence,  and 
many  of  accomplished  manners.  Mrs.  Piozzi,  Mrs. 
Montague,  Mrs.  Ord,  and  the  gentleman  called 
"Athenian  Stuart,1''  were  among  the  visitors. 

Although  the  quickness  and  accuracy  of  Mrs- 
Radcliffe's  powers  of  observation  were  early  felt 
by  her  friends,  it  does  not  seem,  that  the  peculiar 
bent  of  her  genius  was  perceived  till  after  her  mar- 
riage. She  had  been  educated  among  members  of 
the  old  school,  in  manners  and  morals,  whose  no- 
tions, while  they  prompted  the  most  considerate 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  7 

kindness  towards  their  young  charge,  did  not  per- 
haps tend  to  excite  precocious  intellect,  especially 
in  a  female  of  diffidence,  approaching  to  shyness. 
Something  of  the  formality  derived  from  education 
may  be  traced  in  her  works,  supplying  a  mas- 
sive but  noble  and  definite  frame-work  for  her 
sombre  and  heroic  pictures.  There  was  also,  in 
the  feeling  of  old  gentility,  which  most  of  her  rela- 
tives cherished,  a  natural  repugnance  to  author- 
ship, which  she  never  entirely  lost  even  after  her 
splendid  success  was  ensured,  and  she  had  found 
herself  the  creator  of  a  new  class  in  English  ro- 
mances. 

In  the  twenty-third  year  of  her  age,  Miss  Ward 
was  married  to  Mr.  William  Radcliffe,  a  graduate 
of  Oxford,  who,  at  one  period,  intended  to  follow 
the  profession  of  the  law,  and,  with  that  view, 
kept  several  terms  at  one  of  the  Inns  of  Court,  but 
who  afterwards  changed  his  purpose.  The  cere- 
mony was  performed  at  Bath,  where  her  parents 
then  resided,  and  she  afterwards  proceeded  with 
her  husband  to  live  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Lon- 
don. Encouraged  by  him,  she  soon  began  to  em- 
ploy her  leisure  in  writing  ;  and,  as  her  distrust  of 
herself  yielded  to  conscious  success,  proceeded  with 
great  rapidity.  Mr.  Radcliffe,  about  this  time, 
became  the  proprietor  of  "  The  English  Chroni- 
cle,'1 and  took  an  active  share  in  the  management 
of  the  paper,  which,  with  other  avocations,  obliged 
him  to  be  frequently  absent  from  home  till  a  late 


md 


8  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

hour  in  the  evening.  On  these  occasions,  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  usually  beguiled  the  else  weary  hours  by 
her  pen,  and  often  astonished  her  husband,  on 
his  return,  not  only  by  the  quality,  but  the  extent 
of  the  matter  she  had  produced,  since  he  left  her. 
The  evening  was  always  her  favourite  season  for 
composition,  when  her  spirits  were  in  their  happiest 
tone,  and  she  was  most  secure  from  interruption. 
So  far  was  she  from  being  subjected  to  her  own 
terrors,  that  she  often  laughingly  presented  to  Mr. 
Radcliffe  chapters,  which  he  could  not  read  alone 
without  shuddering. 

Although  Mrs.  Radcliffe  was  as  far  as  possible 
removed  from  the  slavery  of  superstitious  fear, 
she  took  an  eager  interest  in  the  work  of  compo- 
sition, and  was,  for  the  time,  completely  absorbed 
in  the  conduct  of  her  stories.  The  pleasures  of 
painting  have  been  worthily  celebrated  by  men, 
who  have  been  devoted  to  the  art ;  but  these  can 
scarcely  be  regarded  as  superior  to  the  enjoyments 
of  a  writer  of  romance,  conscious  of  inventive  pow- 
er. If  in  the  mere  perusal  of  novels  we  lose  our 
painful  sense  of  the  realities  of  "  this  unimaginable 
world,1'  and  delightedly  participate  in  the  sorrows, 
the  joys,  and  the  struggles  of  the  persons,  how  far 
more  intensely  must  an  authoress  like  Mrs.  Rad- 
cliffe feel  that  outgoing  of  the  heart,  by  which  in- 
dividuality is  multiplied,  and  we  seem  to  pass  a 
hundred  lives  !     She  spreads  out  many  threads  of 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  9 

sympathy  and  lives  along  every  line.  The  passions, 
the  affections,  the  hopes  of  her  character  are  essen- 
tially her's ;  born  out  of  her  own  heart ;  figured 
from  the  tracings  of  her  own  brain  ;  and  reflecting 
back  again,  in  shape  and  form,  the  images  and 
thoughts,  which  work  indistinctly  in  the  fancies  of 
others.  There  is  a  perpetual  exercise  of  that 
plastic  power,  which  realizes  the  conceptions  of  the 
mind  to  itself,  and  gives  back  to  it  its  own  ima- 
ginations in  "  clear  dream  and  solemn  vision.*' 
How  delightful  to  trace  the  dawnings  of  innocent 
love,  like  the  coming  on  of  spring;  to  unveil  the 
daily  course  of  a  peaceful  life,  gliding  on  like 
smooth  water ;  to  exhibit  the  passions  in  their  high 
agitations  and  contests ;  to  devise  generous  self- 
sacrifice  in  heroic  thought-;  to  pour  on  the  wearied 
and  palpitating  heart  overflowing  happiness;  to 
throw  the  mind  forward  to  advanced  age,  and 
through  its  glass  to  take  a  mournful  retrospect  of 
departed  joy,  and  pensively  understand  a  mild  and 
timely  decay  !  No  exertion  of  the  faculties  ap- 
pears more  enviable  than  that  of  forming  the  out- 
line of  a  great  tale,  like  "  The  Mysteries  of  Udol- 
pho  ;""  bringing  out  into  distinctness  all  the  hints 
and  dim  pictures,  which  have  long  floated  in  the 
mind  ;  keeping  in  view  the  catastrophe  from  the 
first,  and  the  relations  to  it  of  the  noblest  scenes 
and  most  complicated  adventures ;  and  feeling  al- 
ready, as  through  all  the  pulses  of -the  soul,  the 
curiosity,  the  terror,  the  pity  and  the  admiration, 
b5 


10  LTFE    AND    WHITINGS 

which  will  be  excited   by  the  perusal  in  the  minds 
of  thousands  and  thousands  of  readers. 

Incited  by  the  intellectual  recompense  of  such 
a  pursuit,  Mrs.  Radcliffe  gave  her  romances  in 
quick  succession  to  the  world  : — her  first  work, 
"■  The  Castles  of  Athlin  and  Dunbayne,"  was 
published  in  the  year  1789  ;  the  "  Sicilian  Ro- 
mance," in  1790 ;  the  "  Romance  of  the  Forest," 
in  1791  ;  "  The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  in 
1794  ;  and  "  The  Italian,"  in  1797.  It  is  pleas- 
ing to  trace  the  developement  of  her  resources 
and  her  gradual  acquisition  of  mastery  over 
them  in  these  productions.  The  first,  with  a 
goodly  number  of  old  towers,  dungeon  keeps,  sub- 
terraneous passages  and  hair-breadth  escapes,  has 
little  of  reality,  or  life;  as  if  the  author  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  regions  of  romance  from  afar,  and 
formed  a  sort  of  dreamy  a  quaintance  with  its  re- 
cesses and  glooms.  In  her  next  work,  the  "  Sicilian 
Romance,'"  she  seems  to  obtain  a  bird's-eye  view  of 
all  the  surface  of  that  delightful  region — she  places 
its  winding*  vales  and  delicious  bowers  and  sum- 
mer  seas  before  the  eye  of  the  mind — but  is  as  yet 
unable  to  introduce  the  reader  individually  into 
the  midst  of  the  scene,  to  surround  him  with  its 
luxurious  air,  and  compel  him  to  shudder  at  its 
terrors.  In  the  "  Romance  of  the  Forest,"  she  ap- 
proaches and  takes  up  her  very  residence  in  the 
pleasant  borders  of  the  enchanted  land ;  the  sphere 
she  chooses  is  small  and  the  persons  limited  ;  but 


OF    MBS.    RADCLIFFE.  11 

here  she  exercises  clear  dominion,  and  realizes 
every  thing  to  the  fancy.  The  "  Mysteries  of 
Udolpho"  is  the  work  of  one,  who  has  entered  and 
possessed  a  mighty  portion  of  that  enchanted  land  ; 
who  is  familiar  with  its  massive  towers  and  so- 
lemn glooms ; — and  who  presents  its  objects  of 
beauty,  or  horror,  through  a  certain  haze,  which 
sometimes  magnifies  and  sometimes  veils  their  true 
proportions.  In  the  '  ■  Italian,"  she  occupies  a  less 
space;  but,  shining  in  golden  light,  her  figures 
have  the  distinctness  of  terrible  pictures ;  and 
her  scenes,  though  perhaps  less  astounding  in 
the  aggregate,  are  singly  more  thrilling  and 
vivid. 

This  splendid  series  of  fictions  became  immedi- 
ately popular  with  the  numerous  class  of  readers, 
who  seek  principally  for  amusement,  and  soon 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  finer  spirits  of  the 
age.  Dr.  Joseph  Warton,  the  Head  Master  of 
Winchester  School,  who  was  far  advanced  in  life 
when  "  The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho11  was  published, 
told  Mr.  Robinson,  the  publisher,  that,  happening 
to  meet  with  it,  he  was  so  fascinated,  that  he  could 
not  go  to  bed  till  he  had  finished  it,  and  actually 
sat  up  the  greater  part  of  the  night  for  the  pur- 
pose. Mr.  Sheridan  spoke  of  the  same  work  in 
terms  of  the  highest  eulogy.  Mr.  Fox,  in  a  letter 
written  to  an  intimate  friend,  soon  after  the  publi- 
cation of  "The  Italian,""  spoke  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe's 
works  in  terms  of  high  praise,  and  entered  into  a 


12  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

somewhat  particular  examination  and  compari- 
son of  the  respective  merits  of  the  "  Mysteries  of 
Udolpho"  and  "  The  Italian/'  The  author  of  the 
Pursuits  of  Literature,  not  much  given  to  com- 
mend, describes  her  as  "  The  mighty  magician 
of  The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,  bred  and  nourished 
by  the  Florentine  muses,  in  their  sacred,  solitary 
caverns,  amid  the  paler  shrines  of  Gothic  super- 
stition, and  in  all  the  dreariness  of  enchant- 
ment :  a  poetess,  whom  Ariosto  would,  with  rap- 
ture, have  acknowledged  as 


La  nudrita 


Damigella  Trivulzia  al  sacro  speco." 

The  pecuniary  advantages,  which  she  derived 
from  her  works,  though  they  have  been  exagge- 
rated, were  considerable,  according  to  the  fashion 
of  the  times.  For  the  "  Mysteries  of  Udolpho" 
she  received  from  Messrs.  Robinson  £500. ;  a  sum 
then  so  unusually  large  for  a  work  of  fiction,  that 
Mr.  Cadell,  who  had  great  experience  in  such  mat- 
ters, on  hearing  the  statement,  offered  a  wager  of 
£10.  that  it  was  untrue.  By  the  Italian,  although 
considerably  shorter,  she  acquired  about  the  sum 
of  ^800. 

The  reputation,  which  Mrs.  RadclifFe  derived 
from  her  writings  did  not  draw  her  from  the  re- 
tirement, in  which  they  were  written.  Although, 
as  she  had  no  children,  the  duties  of  a  family  did 
not  engross  her  attention,   she  declined  entering 


OF    MRS.  RADCLIFFE.  13 

into  the  society  she  was  so  well  calculated  to  adorn. 
Nothing  but  entire  reciprocity  in  all  the  accom- 
paniments of  society  could  satisfy  her  ideas  of 
the  independence  it  became  her  to  preserve.  She 
would,  indeed,  have  conferred  honour  and  obliga- 
tion on  any  circle,  which  she  could  prevail  on  her- 
self to  join  ;  but  a  scrupulous  self-respect,  almost 
too  nice  to  be  appreciated  in  these  days,  induced 
her  sedulously  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  recep- 
tion, on  account  of  her  literary  fame.  The  very 
thought  of  appearing  in  person  as  the  author  of 
her  romances  shocked  the  delicacy  of  her  mind. 
To  the  publication  of  her  works  she  was  con- 
strained by  the  force  of  her  own  genius;  but 
nothing  could  tempt  her  to  publish  herself ;  or 
to  sink  for  a  moment,  the  gentlewoman  in  the 
novelist.  She  felt  also  a  distaste  to  the  increasing- 
familiarity  of  modern  manners,  to  which  she  had 
been  unaccustomed  in  her  youth  ;  and,  though  re- 
markably free  and  cheerful  with  her  relatives  and 
intimate  friends,  she  preferred  the  more  formal  po- 
liteness of  the  old  school  among  strangers.  Be- 
sides these  reasons  for  preserving  her  seclusion, 
she  enjoyed,  with  peculiar  relish,  the  elegant  plea- 
sures it  gave  her  the  means  of  partaking  with  her 
husband.  She  chose  at  once  the  course  she  would 
pursue,  and,  finding  that  her  views  met  the  entire 
concurrence  of  Mr.  Radcliffe,  adhered  to  it  through 
life.  Instead  of  lavishing  time  and  money  on  en- 
tertainments, the  necessity  for  which,  according  to 


14  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

her  feelings,  was  connected  with  a  participation  in 
general  society,  she  sought  the  comforts  of  resi- 
ding in  airy  and  pleasant  situations,  of  unbroken 
leisure  and  frequent  travelling;  and,  as  her  in- 
come was  increased  by  the  death  of  relatives,  she 
retained  the  same  plan  of  living,  only  extending  its 
scale  of  innocent  luxury. 

In  the  summer  of  1794,  subsequent  to  the  pub- 
lication of  "  The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  accompanied  her  husband  on  a  tour 
through  Holland  and  the  western  frontier  of  Ger- 
many, returning  down  the  Rhine.  This  was  the 
first  and  only  occasion,  on  which  she  quitted  Eng- 
land ;  though  the  vividness  of  her  descriptions  of 
Italy,  Switzerland  and  the  south  of  France,  in 
which  her  scenes  are  principally  laid,  induced  a 
general  belief,  that  she  had  visited  those  countries. 
So  strongly  was  this  conviction  impressed  on  the 
public  mind,  that  a  recent  traveller  of  celebrity 
referred  to  her  descriptions  as  derived  from  per- 
sonal observation ;  and  it  was  asserted  in  the 
"Edinburgh  Review"  for  May  1823,  that  she  ac- 
companied her  husband  to  Italy,  when  he  was  at- 
tached to  one  of  the  British  Embassies,  and  that 
"  it  was  on  that  occasion  she  imbibed  the  taste  for 
picturesque  scenery,  and  the  obscure  and  wild  su- 
perstitions of  mouldering  castles,  of  which  she  has 
made  so  beautiful  a  use  in  her  romances.1'  After 
their  return  from  the  Continent,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  made  a  tour  to  the  English  Lakes,  and 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  15 

were  highly  gratified  by  the  excursion.  On  these 
journeys,  Mrs.  Radcliffe  almost  invariably  employ- 
ed snatches  of  time  at  the  inns  where  she  rested, 
in  committing  to  paper  the  impressions  and  events 
of  the  day,  which  she  could  afterwards  review  at 
leisure — a  happy  mode  of  prolonging  those  vivid 
pleasures  of  life,  for  which  she  had  a  fine  relish. 
Such  a  habit,  when  it  does  not  become  too  fre- 
quently introspective,  or  "  sickly  o'er"  our  enjoy- 
ments with  "  the  pale  cast  of  thought,"  tends  to 
impart  a  unity  to  our  intellectual  being.  It  enables 
us  to  live  over  again  the  unbroken  line  of  existence  ; 
to  gather  up  the  precious  drops  of  happiness,  that 
they  be  not  lost ;  and,  in  the  last  moments  of  feel- 
ing and  thought,  to  find  fi  a  glass  which  shows 
us  many  more.1'  After  Mrs.  RadclifiVs  return, 
she  was  prevailed  on  to  give  to  her  notes  a  regular 
form,  and  to  publish  them  in  a  quarto  volume, 
which  met  with  a  favourable  reception. 

The  subsequent  excursions  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  were  of  less  extent,  and  chiefly  directed 
to  the  southern  coast  of  England.  Always  once, 
and  generally  twice  in  the  year,  they  took  a  jour- 
ney through  some  beautiful  or  interesting  country, 
limiting  themselves  to  no  particular  course,  but  en- 
joying the  perfect  freedom,  which  was  most  agree- 
able to  their  tastes.  Mrs.  Radcliffe  continued  her 
little  diary  of  these  pleasant  rovings,  but  without 
the  slightest  idea  of  publication,  from  which  she  ge- 
nerally shrunk  as  an  evil.    Some  specimen  of  these 


16  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

journals  are  now  first  presented  to  the  reader,  which 
will  exhibit  her  mind  in  its  undress — show  her 
feelings  as  they  were  undisguised — and  display  her 
tact  of  observation  and  descriptive  power,  as  exist- 
ing simply  for  her  own  gratification.  She  always 
travelled  with  a  considerable  number  of  books, 
and  generally  wrote,  while  Mr.  Radcliffe  derived 
amusement  from  reading  them. 

The  following  notes  are  extracted  from  memo- 
randa  made  on  a  little  tour  to  the  coast  of  Kent, 
in  the  autumn  of  1797.  They  appear  to  have 
been  written  at  the  Inn  at  Hythe,  while  Mr.  Rad- 
cliffe rode  to  Folkstone. 

"  September  1st.  Began  our  tour  to  the  sea- 
side. Between  Gravesend  and  Rochester,  the  road, 
though  farther  from  the  river  than  about  North- 
fleet,  commands  delightful  views  of  it,  expanding 
to  great  breadth,  and  in  length  reaching  towards 
the  Nore  ;  ranges  of  distant  hills  in  Essex  and  Kent 
finally  close  the  prospect.  The  shores  green  and 
rich,  and  the  water  covered  with  sails  tacking  in 
all  directions.  Sweet  afternoon.  Continual  vil- 
lages ;  neat  and  pleasant  country  houses,  with 
lawns  and  shrubberies  and  high-walled  kitchen 
gardens.  Views  of  the  river.  The  dignity  of 
these  views  now  much  increased ;  the  distant  hills 
run  out  into  long  ridges,  and  fold  one  behind 
the  other.  The  river  often  seen  between  green- 
dipping  hills,  and  then  opening  in  vast  majesty. 
Descended  towards  Rochester:  solemn  appearance 


OF    MRS.   RADCLIFFE.  17 

of  the  castle,  with  its  square  ghastly  walls  and  their 
h  ollow  eyes,  rising  over  a  bank  of  the  Med  way, 
g  rey  and  massive  and  floorless ;  nothing  remain- 
ing but  the  shell.  From  the  bridge  looked  on 
the  right,  up  the  Med  way,  winding  broad  be- 
tween woody  picturesque  heights,  sometimes  shelv- 
ing into  points.  On  the  left,  the  river  busy  with 
shipping,  as  it  winds  round  the  town,  towards  the 
Thames,  and  very  broad. 

"  Made  our  way  in  the  gig  through  the  long  nar- 
row streets,  and  then,  leaving  Chatham  on  the  left, 
mounted  a  very  steep  road,  having  wide  views 
of  Chatham,  the  docks  and  shipping,  the  new 
barracks — a  town  themselves — rising  up  a  hill, 
with  fortifications  above  its  green  mounds,  with 
cannon  and  two  small  artificial  hills,  with  flags. 
A  great  prospect,  but  too  broken,  and  full  of  scars 
and  angles  of  fortifications  and  other  buildings 
and  of  excavations,  to  be  quite  pleasing.  Fur- 
ther on,  mounted  Chatham  Hill;  the  view  wonder- 
fully grand  and  various.  The  vale  of  the  Med- 
way,  sweeping  from  Rochester  to  Sheerness,  and 
the  Nore,  with  the  Essex  hills  beyond  the  Thames, 
bounding  the  scene  to  the  north-west ;  one  of  the 
richest  green  landscapes,  with  wood  and  villages, 
I  ever  saw.  The  Thames  itself  visible  for  many 
miles,  running  sometimes  almost  parallel  with  the 
green,  rich  vale  of  the  Medway,  till  it  pours  its 
broad  waves  into  the  sea  opposite  Sheerness.  The 
fortress  lying  low  upon  this  side  of  the  Medway, 


18  LIFE    AND    WHITINGS 

with  its  shipping  distinctly  seen  by  the  help  of  a 
good  glass  ;  the  sea,  animated  with  ships  beyond 
Southend,  visible  on  the  Thames  opposite  to 
Sheerness,  almost  upon  the  open  sea :  knew  a 
sloop  to  be  one,  which  we  had  seen  sailing  on  the 
Thames  by  Greenhithe.  Proceeded  to  Sitting- 
bourn,  through  orchards,  pastures  and  fragrant 
villages ;  the  road  frequently  rose  and  fell,  but 
the  prospects  were  not  considerable,  except  at  Sit- 
tingbourn,  an  open,  pleasant  town. 

"  September  2. — Set  out  about  eleven  for  Can- 
terbury. The  road  very  hilly,  but  through  a  most 
rich  country  of  orchards,  hop-grounds  and  pas- 
tures, villages  and  pretty  houses,  with  lawns  and 
gardens  frequently  occurring.  Feversham,  a  mile 
on  the  left ;  saw  it  with  its  arm  of  the  sea,  and 
the  sea  itself,  at  a  distance.  Soon  after  began  the 
long  ascent  of  Boughton  Hill ;  the  summit  re- 
warded us  with  a  prodigious  prospect.  The  hill 
itself  wild  with  fern  and  coppice  wood.  Many 
woods  also  in  the  near  prospect,  intermingled  with 
surprising  richness  of  pasture,  orchard  and  hops. 
Descending  the  other  side,  saw  the  tower  of  Can- 
terbury cathedral,  cresting  a  hill  beyond ;  the  body 
of  the  cathedral  and  the  city  not  yet  appearing ; 
the  tower  became  visible  again  at  intervals,  and,  at 
length,  the  city,  with  its  ancient  gates  and  build- 
ings. The  cathedral  itself  looked  very  tall  and 
solemn,  like  a  spectre  of  ancient  times,  and  seem- 
ed to  hint  of  what  it  had  witnessed.    As  we  ap- 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  19 

proached  the  gate,  supported  by  octagonal  towers, 
a  long  line  of  horses  and  soldiers  poured  from 
the  high  narrow  arch.  Proceeded,  after  dinner, 
to  Dover  over  Barham  Downs.  Views  into  rich 
little  valleys  on  the  right ;  each  village  having  its 
tall  grey  steeple.  Noble  mansions  and  parks  fre- 
quently on  the  rising  grounds. 

"  September  3. — Walked  on  the  beach,  watch- 
ing the  retiring  and  returning  waves,  and  attend- 
ing to  the  bursting  thunder  of  the  surge. 

"  Afterwards  stood  on  a  fortified  point  below  the 
castle,  immediately  and  high  over  the  beach,  com- 
manding a  vast  marine  horizon,  with  a  long  tract 
of  the  French  coast,  a  white  line  bounding  the 
blue  waters.  Below,  on  the  right,  Dover  curves 
picturesquely  along  the  sea-bay ;  the  white  and 
green  cliffs  rising  closely  over  it,  except  near  the 
castle,  where  they  give  place  to  hills,  that  open  to 
a  green  valley,  with  enclosures  and  a  pretty  vil- 
lage, beyond  which  it  winds  away.  The  most 
grand  and  striking  circumstances,  as  we  stood  on 
the  point,  were — the  vast  sea-view — the  long  shades 
on  its  surface  of  soft  green,  deepening  exquisitely 
into  purple ;  but,  above  all,  that  downy  tint  of 
light  blue,  that  sometimes  prevailed  over  the  whole 
scene,  and  even  faintly  tinged  the  French  coast,  at 
a  distance.  Sometimes,  too,  a  white  sail  passed  in 
a  distant  gloom,  while  all  between  was  softly  sha- 
dowed ;  the  cliffs  above  us  broken  and  encumbered 
with  fortifications ;   the  sea  viewed  bevond  them, 


20  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

with  vessels  passing  from  behind  ;  the  solemn 
sound  of  the  tide,  breaking  immediately  below, 
and  answered,  as  it  were,  at  measured  intervals, 
along  the  whole  coast ;  this  circumstance  inex- 
pressibly grand  ;  the  sound  more  solemn  and  hol- 
low than  when  heard  on  the  beach  below.  A  fleet 
of  merchantmen,  with  a  convoy,  passed  and  spread 
itself  over  the  channel. 

"  Afternoon. — Walked  towards  Shakspeare's 
Cliff;  the  fleet  still  in  view.  Looked  dowi^  from  the 
edge  of  the  cliffs  on  the  fine  red  gravel  margin 
of  the  sea.  Many  vessels  on  the  horizon  and  in 
mid-channel.  The  French  coast,  white  and  high, 
and  clear  in  the  evening  gleam.  Evening  upon 
the  sea  becoming  melancholy,  silent  and  pale.  A 
leaden-coloured  vapour  rising  upon  the  horizon, 
without  confounding  the  line  of  separation ;  the 
ocean  whiter,  till  the  last  deep  twilight  falls,  when 
all  is  one  gradual,  inseparable,  undistinguishable, 
grey. 

"  September  4. — Morning  fine,  calm,  but  be- 
come slightly  cloudy.  Walked  to  the  topmost 
point  of  Shakspeare's  Cliff,  which  appears  a  huge 
face  of  chalk  over  the  sea.  The  way  through 
fields  ;  the  path  constantly  rising,  and  leading 
near  the  edge  of  the  cliffs;  leaned  sometimes 
over  the  railing,  and  looked  down  the  precipices 
and  on  the  blue  sea ;  little  boats  and  a  sloop  be- 
low. Coast  of  France  visible ;  though  always 
most   clearly  seen  about  sunset,  when   the   west- 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  21 

era  rays  strike  horizontally  upon  it,  and  light 
up  all  its  features.  Proceeding  to  the  point  of 
the  cliff,  had  no  longer  the  protection  of  a  railing ; 
bushes  of  hawthorn,  mossed  with  yellow,  alone 
fence  the  precipice.  Putting  our  hands  on  the 
ground,  we  peeped  over,  ledge  below  ledge,  abrupt 
down.  Many  of  the  ledges  hung  with  plants  and 
bushes.  On  the  east,  Dover — the  bay — the  castle 
— cliffs  beyond — the  boundless  sea.  In  front, 
France,  (Calais  not  visible,)  a  long  tract  sink- 
ing away  to  the  West,  and  leaving  a  wider 
sea.  Westward,  charming  view  towards  Beachy 
Head,  the  high  and  farthest  promontory  ;  black 
points  of  land,  or  rather  low  promontories,  run- 
ning out,  one  beyond  another,  into  the  sea  ;  hills 
retiring  to  some  margin,  wild,  heathy  and  broken ; 
then  the  coast  makes  a  fine  sweep;  and,  after 
forming  a  vast  bay,  stretches  out  in  the  long, 
low  point  of  land,  called  Dungeness,  on  which 
stands  a  light-house.  Within  this  fine  bay,  Folk- 
stone  was  visible,  with  Sandgate  castle  and  village 
on  the  margin  ;  then  Hythe,  a  little  more  removed 
and  higher ;  then  an  old  castle,  higher  still  and 
further  from  the  shore  ;  Romney,  with  its  long 
marshes,  beyond ;  and  far  beyond  all,  the  high 
lands  of  Beachy  Head,  so  eminent  and  bold,  as 
scarcely  to  be  known  for  a  continuation  of  the 
same  coast.  The  cliffs  decline  towards  Folkstone, 
and  there  are  none  beyond,  on  this  side  of  Beachy 
Head  ;  but  at  some  distance,  from  the  shore,  rise 


22  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

broken  and  wild,  though  small  hills.  The  best  cir- 
cumstances in  the  view  are,  first,  the  fine  dark 
points  and  then  the  noble  sweep  of  the  coast,  the 
dark  levels  of  the  marshes  contrasting  with  the 
blue  sea  they  skirt.  Crows  took  wing  for  their 
nests  in  the  cliffs  below  us.  Thought  of  "  the  mid- 
way air ;"  no  sea-fowl.  The  white  surf  beating  far 
along  the  curving  margin  below  to  where  other 
chalky  points  uprear  themselves.  Within  land, 
the  hills  are  brown  and  bleak  and  broken.  The 
castle  hills,  on  the  land  side,  scarred  by  roads  and 
far  from  picturesque  ;  steep  chalk  hollows  among 
the  heath. 

"About  half  past  five  in  the  afternoon,  set  off  for 
Hythe,  ten  miles,  chiefly  along  the  high  sea-cliffs, 
except  that  about  a  mile  from  Dover,  we  wound 
among  brown  hills,  and,  the  cliffs  sometimes  sink- 
ing a  little,  we  had  catches  of  the  sea  and  of  France, 
between  green  dipping  heights.  Near  Folkstone, 
descended  a  very  long  chalk  hill,  whence  an  en- 
chanting view  towards  Beachy  Head  ;  the  hills, 
retiring  at  some  distance  from  the  shore,  open  a 
curving  bosom,  and  show  towns  and  villages  at 
their  feet.  Glad  to  get  through  the  narrow  steep 
streets  of  Folkstone,  though  the  town  is  well  situ- 
ated. Proceeded  in  the  dusk  for  Sandgate.  De- 
scended upon  it — a  white,  new  village,  straggling 
along  the  beach,  on  each  side  of  the  wide  road. 
Green  hills  rising  all  about  it,  and  the  place  wide 
and  free  and  pleasant ;  the  sea  beach  appearing  at 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  23 

every  step  between  the  houses,  on  one  side,  and 
as  easy  an  access  to  the  hills,  on  the  other  side. 
On  the  beach  an  ancient  castle,  of  several  round 
towers,  ivied  and  clustered  together,  and  built  low 
like  Sandwich  castle.  Soldiers  on  guard  at  the  gate ; 
thick  walls  ;  cannon  ;  all  on  the  outside  was  green 
sod.  The  village  being  full,  proceeded  through 
deepening  dusk  to  Hythe,  a  mile  and  a  half  farther, 
the  road  leading  along  the  beach,  at  the  foot  of 
green  hills  ;  the  sea  appearing  to  flow  even  with  us. 
Cottages  by  the  road  side  and  people  straggling 
all  the  way.  Came  late  to  Hythe,  and  slept  there. 
Its  ancient  church  stands  high,  is  a  sea-mark  and 
a  picturesque  object,  its  grey  towers  and  gothic 
windows  appearing  among  wood,  and  having  a  hill 
behind  them." 

In  the  autumn  of  1798,  Mrs.  Radcliffe,  accom- 
panied by  her  husband,  visited  Portsmouth,  the 
Isle  of  Wight  and  Winchester.  Her  journal  on 
this  little  tour,  which  she  seems  to  have  particu- 
larly enjoyed,  is  too  minute  to  give  entire ;  but 
we  select  the  following  specimens. 

"  September  20 — Set  out  in  a  beautiful  afternoon 
for  Portsmouth.  Ascending  to  Esher  by  twilight, 
heard  the  bells  sounding,  with  most  melancholy 
sweetness,  from  the  summit,  and  strengthening  as 
we  approached :  every  thing  pensive,  and  tran- 
quil. 

"  September  21,  1798.  Sweet  fresh  morning. 
Left  Cobham  between  seven  and  eight.     Passed 


24  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

under  a  picturesque  bridge  uniting  the  grounds  of 
Paine's  hill ;  high,  rough,  broken  banks,  topped 
with  lofty  trees,  that  hang  over  a  light  rustic 
bridge.  Then  enter  upon  a  wide  scene  of  heath, 
skirted  here  and  there  with  rich  distances  ;  after- 
wards, many  miles  of  heath,  of  a  dull  purple  and 
dusty  iron  brown,  with,  sometimes,  sudden  knolls 
planted  with  firs;  sometimes  distances  let  in  be- 
tween bold  hills.  After  Guildford,  a  large  neat 
old  town,  and  pretty  Godalmin,  at  the  end  of  a 
green  level;  steep  hills  to  Haslemere  and  beyond 
it,  but  opening  to  vast  prospects : — again,  many 
miles  of  purple  and  rusty  heath,  with  scarcely 
a  tree  or  a  hut.  Nearer  to  Horndon,  the  coun- 
try, though  it  continues  to  be  heathy,  is  upon  a 
grander  scale,  opening  to  distant  ridges  of  high 
swelling  hills,  that  probably  overlook  the  sea ; 
the  hills  in  Hampshire,  on  the  right,  more  culti- 
vated ;  those  in  Sussex  vast,  sweeping  and  downy. 
Fine  sunset  from  under  clouds ;  the  strong  gleam 
almost  blinded  us  as  we  descended  in  a  hollow ; 
the  high,  heathy  banks  receiving  the  full  efful- 
gence, while  all  below  was  gloom.  The  rays  had 
already  become  much  fainter,  as  we  wound  up  a 
chalky  precipice  of  great  sweep  and  length,  with 
steep  downs  rising  over  it ;  sheep  on  the  summit 
showing  themselves  against  the  sky.  A  fine  moon 
rose,  and  lighted  us  over  the  downs  to  Horndon. 
Heard  only  the  sheep-bells,  as  the  shepherd  lad 


OF    MRS.    RADCL1FFE.  25 

was  folding  his  flocks,  and  they  came  down  from 
the  hills.     Slept  at  Horndon. 

"  September  22.  Showers,  but  cleared  up  to  a 
fine  morning.  Passed  over  two  or  three  miles  of 
the  beautiful  forest  of  Bere,  the  most  picturesque 
of  any  we  have  seen  in  England,  breaking  in 
sweet  woodland  glades,  all  around  to  other  hills 
and  valleys,  with  patches  of  green-sward  and  heath  ; 
and  to  the  bold  ridges,  that  extend  to  the  sea. 
A  cottage,  here  and  there,  under  the  trees,  with 
its  grey  curling  smoke.  As  we  mount  Portsdown 
hill,  views,  on  the  left,  towards  Chichester  and 
the  bay  of  the  sea  ;  on  the  right,  towards  South- 
ampton ;  retrospect  of  Bere  forest  in  the  valley,  and 
ascending  among  the  Hampshire  hills  most  beau- 
tifully. Having  reached  the  summit  of  Portsdown 
hill,  the  channel,  the  blue,  high,  sweeping  ridge  of 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  Spithead,  Portsmouth,  with  its 
long  embankments  and  spacious  harbour,  spread 
before  our  eyes.  This  view,  though  very  grand, 
was  not  so  striking  as  I  expected.  The  hills  do 
not  advance  near  enough  to  the  shore  to  hang  over 
it,  nor  are  they  bold  and  broken  in  their  shapes. 
We  are  not  allowed  to  look  down  abruptly  on  the 
sea  and  the  Isle  of  Wight  ;  but  view  the  first  at 
four  miles  distance,  after  the  eye  has  gradually 
passed  over  the  flat  lands  below,  and  the  land- 
locked harbours,  which  break  the  scene  with  com- 
parative littlenesses.  The  shipping  at  Spithead 
appeared  beyond  the  town,  on  the  left,  where  a  low 

vol.  i.  c 


26  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

coast  extends  to  the  Chichester  river,  and  towards 
St.  Helens  on  the  main  sea.  The  Isle  of  Wight 
rises  immediately  in  front  of  the  picture.  Farther 
is  the  chalky  ridge,  that  sinks  towards  the  South- 
ampton water,  and  admits  within  its  concave  a 
tract  of  low  coast,  that  extends  towards  the  chan- 
nel. 

(i  Descend,  and  pass  through  the  village  of  Co- 
sham,  at  its  foot.  The  road  now  becomes  ani- 
mated, and  shows  symptoms  of  a  populous  place ; 
carts,  coaches,  horsemen,  private  carriages,  sol- 
diers, frequent  signs  and  dusty  air,  instead  of  the 
lonely  wilderness  and  breezy  freshness  of  the  hills 
and  forest.  Pass  Portsea  bridge,  fortified  and 
guarded,  and  so  to  Portsmouth,  between  other 
fortifications  and  the  deeply-arched  gates  of  the 
town.  The  ditches,  the  turfed  embankments, 
crowned  with  rows  of  trees,  reminded  me  of  Bom- 
mel,  in  Holland.  On  the  right,  a  view  over  the 
harbour,  with  huge,  black  prison-ships  moored 
upon  it.  Passed  through  the  long  dusty  old  sub- 
urbs. The  town  itself  old,  level  and  somewhat 
mean,  except  the  High-street,  and  about  the  sea- 
ward ramparts.  Drove  to  the  Fountain,  a  large 
and  good  inn,  but  could  hardly  get  a  room  to  dine 
in,  as  a  West  India  and  a  Lisbon  fleet  were  wait- 
ing to  sail  in  a  day  or  two.  Went  to  the  ramparts 
over  the  sea,  crowded  with  officers  of  the  army 
and  navy,  their  wives  and  friends,  and  many  well- 
dressed  people  attending  to  see  the  guns  fired,  in 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  27 

honour  of  the  coronation.  From  this  place  the 
shipping  at  Spithead  in  front,  and  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  with  the  whole  channel,  are  enchanting. 
Returned  to  the  Inn. 

"  After  dinner  we  left  the  horse  and  chaise  at 
the  inn,  and  walked  down  to  the  busy,  dirty  place, 
called  the  Point,  where  we  got  into  a  wherry,  and 
so  went  over  the  harbour  to  the  decked  passage- 
boat,  that  was  to  carry  us  to  the  Isle  of  Wight.  Ad- 
verse wind,  but  not  much  of  it,  Sat  on  the  deck  ; 
a  fine  view  of  the  town,  the  hospital,  the  forts  and 
harbour,  as  we  sailed  out :  the  sea  not  rough. 
Hear  the  he-hoes  of  the  sailors,  afar  in  the  chan- 
nel, and  the  boatswain's  shrill  whistle.  Passed 
through  a  part  of  the  fleet ;  saw  Sir  Sidney  Smith's 
fine  ship,  of  immense  size,  with  many  other  large 
ones  round  it.  A  cloudy  sunset,  but  a  gleam 
came  out  that  fell  upon  the  distant  town  and  har- 
bour, lighted  up  the  sea,  and  touched  the  dark 
polished  sides  of  all  the  ships;  glanced  athwart 
the  western  hills  of  the  island,  of  which  we  were 
now  gaining  a  view.  Sailed  down  the  channel  for 
Cowes.  The  breeze  gradually  sunk,  and  we  were 
becalmed.  A  full  September  moon  rose,  and 
shed  its  radiance  on  the  waters.  Glided  along  the 
woody  steeps  of  the  island,  and  saw  many  a  sweep- 
ing bay  and  obscure  valley  beyond.  Reached 
Cowes  about  nine ;  the  approach  to  it,  in  a  beautiful 
bay,  striking,  with  its  summer  lights  illuminating 
many  windows,  and  its  houses  seeming  to  rise 
c2 


28  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

steeply  from  the  shore  ;  many  vessels  at  anchor  in 
the  bay;  its  slopes  of  scattered  wood  and  pas- 
ture traced  darkly  round  the  bright  clear  water, 
and  opening  to  an  obscure  valley.  Landed  at  West 
Cowes,  and  went  to  the  Vine  Inn. 

"  September  23.  Lovely  day.  Walked  down  to 
the  shore  and  to  the  castle,  a  low  grey  tower  on  a 
rocky  point,  washed  by  the  tide  and  shadowed  by 
lofty  elms ;  sentinels  pacing  under  them,  round 
the  fort ;  fine  view  of  Cowes  and  the  bay.  Thence 
mounted  the  rising  ground  over  the  shore,  and 
walked  a  mile  on  the  Yarmouth  road,  the  views 
opening  between  trees  and  hedges  to  the  dark 
lines  of  the  New  Forest  ;  the  Southampton  water 
just  opposite ;  eastward,  Portsmouth  faintly  seen 
and  the  shipping  at  Spithead ;  the  masts  of  the 
ships  at  Cowes  caught  among  the  trees  below  ; 
the  scene  changing  at  every  step,  with  the  winding 
road  ;  sometimes  quite  shut  out,  then  smiling  in 
the  softest  colours.  All  was  in  gradual  shades  of 
blue ;  the  calm  sea  below,  the  shores  and  distant 
hills,  stretching  along  a  cloudless  blue  sky.  In- 
numerable vessels  and  little  sails,  whose  whiteness 
wras  just  softened  with  the  azure  tint.  It  is  im- 
possible to  express  the  beauty  of  those  soft  melt- 
ing tints,  that  painted  the  distant  perspective, 
towards  Spithead,  where  sea  and  sky  united,  and 
where  the  dark  masts  and  shapes  of  shipping,  draw- 
ing themselves  on  the  horizon,  gave  this  softness 
its  utmost  effect. 


OF    MltS.    HADCLIFFE.  29 

rt  Returned  to  dine  at  the  Vine.  Hired  a  good 
sailing-boat,  to  take  us  to  Ryde  ;  and,  after  din- 
ner, sailed  from  the  harbour.  The  points,  that 
form  the  horns  of  the  crescent,  are  of  rough,  dark 
rock  and  shrub.  On  a  brow,  over  a  wood,  rose 
the  picturesque  tower  of  a  modern  castle,  which 
we  heard  had  lately  been  the  residence  of  a  sister 
of  Admiral  Macbride.  Glided  with  gentle  breeze 
along  the  quiet  and  beautiful  shores  of  the  island, 
undulating  in  gentle  slopes,  covered  with  woods, 
to  the  water's  edge  ;  sometimes  the  lighter  green 
of  meadows  and  pastures  stretched  to  the  very 
bank,  with  here  and  there  a  cottage,  a  village 
church,  or  some  ornamented  house  on  an  ascent 
anions:  trees,  above  which  rose  the  main  hills  of 
the  island.  The  shore  seldom  runs  out  into  points, 
but  winds  into  easy  bays,  hung  with  woods,  some- 
times opening  into  sweet  valleys,  at  others,  ad- 
vancing gently,  with  all  their  "  green  delights,"  to 
meet  the  passing  sails.  The  coast  immediately 
opposite  is  uninteresting  and  flat;  the  chalky  ridge 
of  Vortsdown  too  distant  and  uniform  to  be  grand. 
In  the  retrospect,  indeed,  the  New  Forest  spread 
a  dark  line  along  the  sea,  and  the  western  hills 
of  the  island,  near  Yarmouth,  waved  along  the 
horizon,  and  two  pointed  summits  of  the  Isle  of 
Purbeck  folded  in  behind  them,  making  it  diffi- 
cult to  discern  which  were  the  different  coasts. 
Sea-fowl  showing  their  white  wings  in  the  sun,  as 
they  circled  over  the  waters.  The  breeze  increased, 


30 


LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 


and  we  sailed  finely  among  the  now  roughening, 
yet  still  green  and  almost  transparent  waves,  along 
the  shore.  About  half  way,  the  coast  returns  into 
a  green  recess,  and  the  waters  wind  away  among 
the  hills  verdant  with  thick  woods  and  enclosures. 
Here  the  Governor  has  built  a  picturesque  tower 
above  his  woods.  Hence  extend  along  the  shore 
the  fine  woods  of  the  rector  of  a  village  on  an 
ascent,  where  the  tower  of  the  church,  almost  hid 
in  wood,  insists  upon  being  painted.  Here  imagi- 
nation has  nothing  to  do ;  we  have  only  to  preserve 
the  impression  of  the  living  picture  on  the  memory, 
in  its  own  soft  colours. 

"  Vessels  of  all  sizes  in  the  channel ;  the  sailors' 
he-ho,  the  shrill  whistle,  and  the  rattle  of  cordage, 
as  the  sails  were  altered. 

"Reached  Ryde,  about  sunset.  The  town, 
among  trees,  rises  from  the  shore  up  a  long  hill. 

"  At  the  inn,  though  very  neat,  accomodations 
were  so  inadequate,  that  we  resolved  to  proceed  in 
an  open  boat,  which  was  about  to  return  to  Ports- 
mouth. After  taking  a  hasty  dish  of  very  good 
tea,  went  down  a  rough  causeway,  where  many 
people  were  hurrying  to  the  same  boat,  and  such 
a  crowd  collected  as  alarmed  me.  A  small  party 
was,  however,  soon  made  up  for  a  second  boat; 
when,  with  little  sails  and  two  oars,  we  launched 
among  the  peaceful  waters;  tinged,  on  one  side 
of  the  horizon  with  the  red  glow  of  sunset,  and 
brightening  on  the  other,  under   a   broad    moon 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFfi.  31 

Hsing  over  the  ships  at  Spithead.  Passed  through 
the  fleet.  Heard  voices  talking  far  off  over  the 
dim  waves,  and  sometimes  laughter  and  joviality ; 
especially  as  we  passed  near  a  large  ship,  where 
lights  in  the  great  cabin  high  above,  told  of  the 
Captain  and  cheer.  Distant  lights  appearing 
from  the  ships  successively,  as  the  evening  deep- 
ened, like  glowworms,  and  dotting  the  waters  far 
around.  As  we  drew  near  the  shore,  the  music  of 
French  horns  sounded  with  faint  and  melancholy 
sweetness ;  discovered  at  last  to  come  from  Monck- 
ton  Fort.  Landed  after  an  hour  and  a  half,  at  the 
rampart  steps.  Walk  by  moonlight  on  the  ram- 
part. Supped  and  slept  at  the  Fountain,  after  a 
day  the  most  delightful  of  the  whole  tour."'1 

From  Portsmouth  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Radcliffe  pro- 
ceeded by  Winchester  to  London.  The  following 
is  her  notice  of  the  approach  to  Winchester,  of  the 
City  and  the  Cathedral, 

"  Saw  the  City  lying  deep  among  the  hollows, 
sheltered  from  the  winds  by  bare  hills,  which  half 
conceal  the  town  at  their  feet.  The  King's  house, 
once  really  a  palace,  with  new  houses,  conspicuous 
on  rising  ground.  Found  out  at  last,  through  the 
dusk,  the  venerable  Cathedral,  with  it's  long  roofs 
and  very  low  tower,  among  fine  old  elms  ;  a  recess 
deep  and  retired.  The  streets  clean  and  quiet;  not 
a  student  visible.  This  decorum  and  neatness  form 
a  curious  contrast  to  the  bustle  and  tumult  of  Ports- 
mouth, sending  forth  her  people  to  the  whole  world ; 


32  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

while  Winchester  seems  to  be  so  much  withdrawn 
from  it.  Went  to  the  George,  a  noble  inn  :  sat  in 
a  part  of  the  Assembly  room,  severed  off.  An- 
gelica Kauffman's  drawings  at  each  end.  Walked 
by  moonlight  up  the  High-street ;  good,  terminated 
by  a  fine  old  gate.  Led  by  the  sound  of  martial 
music  to  the  court  of  the  barracks  in  the  old  pa- 
lace.    The  suburbs  old  and  narrow. 

"  September  25.  Sweet  morning.  Rose  soon, 
and  went,  before  breakfast,  to  see  the  Cathedral, 
a  very  large  ancient  fabric,  not  highly  ornamented 
without.  Walks  round  it  of  most  noble,  tall 
elms,  forming  almost  a  perfect  archway  and  as 
high  as  the  roof  of  the  Church.  Old  men  employ- 
ed to  weed  them.  The  Cathedral,  we  were  told, 
is  fifteen  feet  longer  than  any  other  in  England, 
but  it  did  not  appear  to  the  eye  so  long  as  that  of 
Canterbury.  Nave  of  great  height ;  painted  win- 
dows poor,  but  the  choir  affords  the  most  beauti- 
ful coup  cfail  I  ever  saw  ;  the  carving  of  the  dark 
stalls,  and  of  the  pulpit  exquisitely  fine ;  but 
the  white  flligranne-work  of  the  altar  is  as  delicate 
to  the  eye  as  point-lace.  The  altar-piece,  by  West, 
is  Lazarus  rising  from  the  dead.  The  face  well  ex- 
presses the  wanness  and  sharpness  of  death;  but  it 
might  have  been  much  more  descriptive  of  reviving 
life,  beginning  to  steal  upon  the  langour  of  death  ; 
and  of  surprize  and  joyful  hope,  on  beholding  our 
Saviour.  The  attitude  of  Lazarus  is  indeed 
such,  that  he  might  be  taken  for  a  person  dying 
lather  than  one  returning  to   life.     The  counte- 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  llli 

nance  of  our  Saviour  is  full  of  placid  benevolence; 
but  the  action  should  have  been   more  expressive 

of  command of  command,  without  effort.    The 

principal  female  figure,  who  supports  Lazarus,  is 
clear,  beautiful  and  natural ;  she  looks  up  to  our 
Saviour,  with  tears  of  awe  and  gratitude ;  but 
the  grief  and  anxiety  she  has  suffered  are  not  yet 
entirely  chased  from  her  countenance  by  joy  and 
thankfulness  ;  their  impression  was  too  deep  to 
be  suddenly  effaced,  though  the  cause  of  them  is 
removed.  The  faces  of  the  spectators  do  not  suf- 
ficiently speak  astonishment,  awe  and  adoration, 
except  that  of  one,  seen  remotely  and  obscurely, 
as  if  pressing  forward  more  fully  to  ascertain  the 
fact." 

On  the  10th  of  July,  1800,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rad- 
clifFe  left  home  on  a  tour  to  the  southern  coast. 
The  first  evening  they  reached  Capel ; — after  this 
the  Journal  proceeds. 

"  July  11th. — Fine  airy  morning.  Set  off  at  ten. 
Hilly  road,  often  narrow  and  shady.  Upon  the 
eminences  views  over  the  tops  of  oaks  to  moun- 
tainous hills  and  promontories,  covered  nearly  to 
their  summits  with  thick,  woody  inclosurcs  ;  when- 
ever the  bank-trees  opened,  caught  blue,  peeping 
hill-tops,  or  mountainous  lines,  coloured  with  a 
lovely  blueish  haze,  and  seen  enchantingly  beyond 
the  dark,  tufted  foliage  of  majestic  oak.  Passed 
several  open,  pleasant  villages.  Every  where,  ve- 
getation seems  in  the  utmost  luxuriance ;  every 
c  5 


34  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

cottage-window  arboured  with  rose,  or  wood- 
bine. The  South  Downs,  at  a  distance,  heaved  up 
their  high,  blue  lines,  as  ramparts  worthy  of  the 
sublimity  of  the  ocean,  from  whose  power  they 
seemed  to  guard  the  island.  Dined  at  a  little 
inn  in  a  village — Billinghurst.  Terrible  road 
after  this ;  flinty,  sandy,  and  over  frequent  hills, 
but  with  some  recompensing  prospects.  As  we 
drew  nearer  the  South  Downs,  distinguished  the 
smooth  green  of  their  swelling  summits  from  the 
dark  woods  below,  and  in  the  hollows  of  the  hills, 
over  which  the  evening  sun  threw  rich  lights  and 
shadows.  Abundance  of  wood  round  the  villages ; 
good  gardens  to  the  cottages. 

"  Came  at  length  to  Bury,  only  four  miles  from 
Arundel ;  but  our  horse  wanted  rest  after  so  toil- 
some a  road,  and  we  drank  tea,  before  beginning 
to  mount  one  of  the  prodigious  hills  we  had  long 
seen.  Came  at  last  to  the  fine  downs  on  its  summit, 
whence  a  world  seemed  to  lie  before  us.  Gran- 
deur, grace  and  beauty  united  in  this  wonderful 
view.  We  could  just  distinguish  doubtfully  in 
the  twilight,  at  great  distance,  the  channel  between 
the  coast  and  the  Isle  of  Wight,  a  line  of  light 
upon  the  scene,  with  faint  cloudy  lands  of  the  is- 
land beyond.  We  soon  entered  upon  the  domain 
of  Arundel,  the  road  winding  finely  among  its 
pompous  woods  and  rough  forest  lawns.  Partly 
by  the  tediousness  of  the  ascent  and  partly  by  our 
delay  upon  the  summit,  these  four  miles  occupied 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  35 

an  hour  and  a  half.  We  did  not  see  the  castle 
from  the  road,  but  the  woods  and  the  remains  of 
old  gateways  were  perceptible.  A  church  of 
great  extent,  apparently  old  and  grand.  The 
main  street  of  the  town  fearfully  steep.  Reached 
an  excellent  inn,  about  half  past  nine. 

"  July  12.  Fine  day,  but  very  hot.  Went  in 
the  morning  to  see  the  castle,  which  stands  on  an 
eminence,  near  the  town,  about  four  miles  from 
the  sea.  An  irregular  avenue  leads  to  a  solemn 
old  gateway  very  deep  and  bending  like  those  at 
Mentz,  which,  with  the  ruinous  tower  over  it,  man- 
tled with  ivy,  looked  well  in  the  dark  perspec- 
tive of  the  trees.  Low  arched  doors  in  the  gate- 
way,  at  the  sides ;  loops  for  archers  and  abun- 
dance of  room  for  them  in  the  immense  thickness 
of  the  walls. 

"  The  library  is  in  a  long  gallery,  where  hang 
some  portraits  ;  among  them  James  the  Second ; 
his  first  wife,  Lord  Clarendon's  daughter,  hand- 
some, but  with  an  air  of  discontent ;  Elizabeth  of 
Bavaria  and  her  husband ;  two  Cardinals,  one  of 
them  a  Howard.  In  many  of  the  rooms,  the  walls, 
wherever  a  window  occurs,  are  lined  with  dark 
mahogany,  which  forms  the  cases  into  frames,  as 
it  were,  for  the  landscape  seen  through  them,  but 
in  general  looks  brown  and  poor  :  little  wood  vi- 
sible from  this  side  of  the  castle.  We  passed 
through  several  noble  apartments,  not  quite  finish- 
ed, and  others  indifferently  furnished  ;  the  walls  of 


36  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

several,  however,  wainscoted,  chair-high,  with  beau- 
tiful mahogany.  The  pillars  and  Gothic  arch-work 
of  the  music-gallery  exquisitely  carved. 

"  Monday,  July  14. — Cool,  cloudy  morning.  Set 
off,  at  eleven,  for  Worthing.  A  flat,  uninteresting 
coast.  Drove  partly  over  the  sands,  the  tide  being 
down.  Larks  singing  among  the  corn,  near  the 
shore.  A  sea-gull  fishing  in  the  salt-pools,  near 
the  sands.  Within  a  few  miles  of  Worthing  dis- 
covered the  sweep  of  grey  downs  about  Brighton, 
that  form  a  back-ground  to  the  large  bay ;  within 
which,  Brighton,  Worthing,  &c.  are  seated.  Soon 
after,  distinguished  the  dark  masts  of  vessels  lying 
before  Worthing,  some  of  which,  seen  upon  the 
lighter  grey  of  the  distant  hills,  forming  that  fine 
bay,  were  picturesque,  and  seemed  to  be  of  conse- 
quence, but  proved  to  be  only  small  sloops.  Horses 
and  a  carriage  upon  the  sands  informed  us  of  our 
nearer  approach  to  Worthing,  which  stands  well 
upon  the  beach  ;  the  tide  out,  and  a  fine  plain  of 
sand  spread  before  the  village.  It  was  animated 
by  groups  of  the  busy  and  the  idle ;  little  boats 
along  the  edge  of  the  tide,  others  at  anchor :  alto- 
gether it  was  a  very  lively  and  amusing  scene.  A 
fleet  of  ships,  said  to  be  transports,  convoyed  by 
two  men-of-war,  came  upon  the  distance,  and 
clouded  the  horizon  for  some  time,  but  were  too 
far  off  to  be  interesting.  Dined  at  a  pleasant 
hotel  near  the  beach,  with  a  grass-plot  before  it. 
Amused  with  numerous  parties,  who  had  come 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  37 

from  Brighton  in  sociables,  chariots  and  gigs,  to 
dine,  and  who  exhibited  themselves  on  the  grass- 
plot  under  our  window.  After  dinner,  and  after 
seeing  the  tide  flow  up  the  beach,  very  high,  set 
off  for  Little  Hampton,  by  an  inner  road,  through 
pleasant,  shady  lanes,  between  corn  fields,  with  a 
range  of  distant  hills  on  one  side,  their  feet  dark-- 
ened  with  wood.  Delightful  afternoon.  After  a 
sweet  ride,  met  the  sea  again,  at  the  Beach  House, 
where  we  drank  tea,  supped,  and  slept. 

"  July  15.  Lovely  day.  Left  Little  Hampton 
about  one  for  Worthing.  Could  not  go  by  the 
sands,  the  tide  being  too  near.  Stopped  to  dine 
at  the  village  of  Terring,  at  a  small  house  with  a 
garden.  After  dinner,  walked  up  a  high  hill  to 
see  a  celebrated  prospect.  Gained  the  summit  of 
the  sheep-down,  and  stood  on  the  top,  whence  we 
saw  the  whole  compass  of  the  horizon  and  such  a 
stretch  of  sea  and  landscape  !  The  whole  south- 
ern sky,  and  the  blue  sea,  extending  from  the  Isle 
of  Wight  (its  faint  blue-lands  rising  towards  the 
west)  to  the  white  face  of  what  we  took  to  be 
Beachy  Head,  but  afterwards  learned  to  be  Sea- 
ford  Cliffs :  beneath,  lay  sloping  towards  the  sea, 
a  landscape  of  exquisite  hues,  of  corn  and  thick 
hedge-rows  of  woods  and  intermingled  villages. 
Within  the  scope  of  the  bay,  towards  Beachy 
Head,  Worthing,  Shoreham,  Brighton,  on  the 
sea  edge,  backed  with  downs.  Farther  on,  the 
hills  begin   to  whiten,  and  rise  into  the  high  face 


38  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

guarding  the  entrance  of  Newhaven  river,  which 
seems  to  fall  into  a  fine  bay.  To  the  west,  Little 
Hampton,  the  woods,  town  and  castle  of  Arundel ; 
further  on,  amidst  a  long  tract  of  woody  country, 
the  spire  of  Chichester  Cathedral ;  further  still, 
the  high  point  of  Portsdown-hill,  but  not  Ports- 
mouth. The  whole  of  the  Isle  of  Wight  clearly 
within  view  ;  the  ridge  of  hills  divided  into  three 
parts.  Spithead  may  be  distinguished,  it  is  said, 
at  times.  To  the  north,  we  looked  down  into 
woody  valleys  at  the  feet  of  the  Downs,  and  saw 
Mr.  Shelly's  new  mansion,  among  his  fine  woods. 

"  Went  back  to  our  cottage  inn  delighted.  Went 
to  Worthing  to  tea.  The  tide  just  turning,  the 
blue  sea  flowing  almost  even  with  our  windows. 
Parties  again  from  Brighton  at  our  inn.  Lovely 
evening.  When  the  tide  was  lower,  the  sands  were 
gay  with  fine  company.  In  another  part,  a  cricket 
match  going  on  upon  the  sands.  Fishing  vessels 
at  anchor.  Saw  the  Isle  of  Wight  under  the 
evening  light,  more  distinctly  in  some  respects, 
than  before,  yet  like  a  dark  cloud  rising  out  of 
the  sea." 

From  Worthing,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Radcliffe  went 
by  short  journeys  to  Seaford.  The  following  re- 
flections, prompted  by  the  "  melancholy  greatness 
of  nature,"  on  a  little  excursion  by  the  shore,  will 
strikingly  illustrate  the  thoughtful  and  pious  cast 
of  the  writer. 

"  July  19. — Went  to  see  the  rural  village  of  Al- 


OP    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  39 

friston,  over  such  a  road  as  I  never  saw  before  ; 
and  leading  over  such  hills  !  Two  men  helped  the 
chaise  down  one  of  them.  Some  finely  spreading 
oaks  about  the  village,  which  stands  on  an  emi- 
nence in  a  green  valley  backed  by  grey  downs. 
Dined  at  a  very  old  inn ;  had  seats  brought  on 
the  ground,  before  and  after  dinner.  Walked  the 
greatest  part  of  the  way  back  to  Seaford  ;  saw 
the  sun  set  behind  one  of  the  vast  hills.  The  si- 
lent course  over  this  great  scene  awful — the  de- 
parture melancholy.  Oh  God  !  thy  great  laws 
will  one  day  be  more  fully  known  by  thy  crea- 
tures ;  we  shall  more  fully  understand  Thee  and 
ourselves.  The  God  of  order  and  of  all  this  and 
of  far  greater  grandeur,  the  Creator  of  that  glorious 
sun,  which  never  fails  in  its  course,  will  not  neg- 
lect us,  His  intelligent,  though  frail  creatures,  nor 
suffer  us  to  perish,  who  have  the  consciousness  of 
our  mortal  fate  long  before  it  arrives,  and  of 
Him.  He,  who  called  us  first  from  nothing,  can 
again  call  us  from  death  into  life. 

"  In  this  month,  on  the  24th  of  July,  my  dear 
father  died  two  years  since  :  on  the  14th  of  last 
March,  my  poor  mother  followed  him  :  I  am  the 
last  leaf  on  the  tree  !  The  melancholy  greatness 
with  which  I  was  surrounded  this  evening,  made 
me  very  sensible  of  this." 

From  Seaford  the  tourists  proceeded  to  East- 
bourne, and  visited  Beachy  Head.  The  journal 
contains    the   following    short    description,   which 


40  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

places  a  striking  scene  before  us,  with  a  few  strokes 
of  a  masterly  pencil. 

"  July  20.— Dined  at  the  little  village  of  Fris- 
ton,  seated  deep  down  between  immense  hills,  in 
a  valley,  that  about  a  mile  off  opens  to  the  sea,  at 
the  dangerous  place  called  Burling  Gap.  A  Prus- 
sian captain,  whose  vessel  had  been  wrecked  at  the 
foot  of  Beacky,  as  our  landlord  called  it,  had  been 
nine  weeks  at  our  poor  little  inn.  The  village 
had  been  almost  buried  in  the  snow,  which  came 
down  upon  the  village  from  the  steep  sides  of  the 
hills  ;  then  the  thaw  nearly  overwhelmed  it.  From 
the  summit  of  a  hill,  on  our  way  to  Eastbourne, 
immense  retrospect  of  sea  and  land.  Surprising 
appearance  of  the  sea,  which  seemed  to  rise  so 
high,  that  it  could  scarce  be  distinguished  from 
clouds ;  ships  looked  like  birds  in  the  sky.  No- 
thing seen  but  great  and  simple  objects — the  round 
sea — the  huge  uncultivated  headlands." 

The  ascent  of  Beachy  Head,  and  the  view  from 
it,  are  described  at  some  length  in  the  Journal ; 
but  the  following  scene  on  the  shore  is  more  pe- 
culiar and  striking. 

"  July  23.  Walked  to  the  shore  and  along  it, 
with  a  hope  of  having  some  sight  of  the  sea — front 
of  Beachy  Head  from  beneath  it,  though  four  or 
five  miles  off.  The  beach  impassable  by  any  sort 
of  carriage.  A  shore  of  ruins  under  the  cliffs, 
which  gradually  rise  from  what  is  called  the  Wish- 
House,  a   small  white  building  standing  sweetly 


OF    MRS.    RADCLITFE.  41 

near  the  beach,  to  the  summit  of  the  Cape.  Large 
blocks  of  granite  imbedded  on  the  shore,  and  ex- 
tending to  the  waves,  which  rage  and  foam  over 
them,  giving  one  dreadful  ideas  of  shipwreck. 
Sometimes,  patches  of  gravelly  sand,  or  pebbles, 
soon  ending  against  masses  of  granite,  or  chalk, 
between  which  it  is  difficult,  and  not  always  possi- 
ble to  walk;  some  of  them  must  be  stepped  upon. 
Within  half  a  mile  of  the  great  front,  unable  to 
proceed  farther;  sat  down  on  a  block,  wearied 
out,  desiring  William  to  go  on;  he  was  soon  hid 
by  a  turn  of  the  cliffs.  Almost  frightened  at  the 
solitude  and  vastness  of  the  scene,  though  Chance* 
was  with  me.  Tide  almost  out ;  only  sea  in  front ; 
white  cliffs  rising  over  me,  but  not  impending ; 
strand  all  around  a  chaos  of  rocks  and  fallen  cliffs, 
far  out  into  the  waves ;  sea-fowl  wheeling  and 
screaming ;  all  disappeared  behind  the  point,  be- 
yond which,  is  the  great  cliff;  but  we  had  doubled 
point  after  point,  in  the  hope  that  this  would  be 
the  next,  and  had  been  much  deceived  in  the  dis- 
tances by  these  great  objects ;  after  one  remote 
point  gained,  another  and  another  succeeded,  and 
still  the  great  cliff  was  unattained  ;  the  white  pre- 
cipices beautifully  varied  with  plants,  green,  blue, 
yellow  and  poppy.  Wheat-ears  flew  up  often 
from  the  beach:  Chance  pursued  them.  At  length, 
William   returned,   having  been  nearly,  but  not 

*  Her  favourite  Dog. 


42  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

quite,  in  front  of  the  great  promontory.  Slowly 
and  laboriously  we  made  our  way  back  along  the 
beach,  greatly  fatigued,  the  day  exceedingly  hot, 
the  horizon  sulphurous,  with  lowering  clouds; 
thunder  rolled  faintly  at  a  distance." 

The  same  afternoon,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Radcliffe 
continued  their  tour  to  Hastings.  The  following 
is  the  picturesque  view  of  their  journey  from  Bex- 
hill  to  Hastings,  in  the  evening. 

"  From  Bexhill,  descended  between  the  high, 
shrubby  banks  of  lanes,  so  narrow,  that  the  wheels 
seemed  to  fill  the  passage ;  in  some  places  a  horse 
could  not  have  passed  ;  we  met  no  carriage,  or  we 
must  have  backed  a  great  way.  Breathing  honey- 
suckles on  the  banks ;  deep  twilight.  Heard  the 
sea  frequently  on  our  right  when  the  wheels 
stopped.  We  had  before  passed  Pevensey  levels 
and  the  town,  with  its  fine  old  castle :  towers  in 
ruins.  On  our  approach,  it  reminded  one  of  New- 
ark castle.  Near  eleven,  before  we  reached  Hast- 
ings ;  no  moon  ;  starlight ;  milky- way  very  lucid  ; 
seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  sea.  Solemn  and  pleasing 
night-scene.  Glow-worms,  in  great  numbers,  shone 
silently  and  faintly  on  the  dewy  banks,  like  some- 
thing supernatural.  Judgment  of  Shakspeare  in 
selecting  this  image  to  assist  the  terrific  impression 
in  his  ghost-scene.  May  be  called  earth-stars. 
The  coast  patrole  passed  us.  How  far  to  Hast- 
ings? Three  miles.  Farther  on  had  a  narrow 
escape  :  horse  and  chaise  suddenly  plunged  down 
a  bank  into  the  pebbles  ;  nearly  overtuned.    Hap- 


OP    MRS.    EADCLIFFE.  43 

pily  our  horse  stood  quite  still,  after  the  shock, 
and  until  we  had  ascertained  the  rugged  course 
we  were  in  ;  I  walked  the  rest  of  the  way.  Pass 
under  grand,  dark  rocks,  disjointed  and  starting 
up  in  splintered  points,  and  huge  masses.  These 
rocks,  near  the  beach  and  over  the  road,  continue 
to  where  the  houses  open." 

From  Hastings  Mrs.  Radcliffe  proceeded  along 
the  coast  to  Dover,  to  which  place  she  was  ex- 
tremely partial,  and  thence  by  Feversham  to  Lon- 
don. After  minutely  detailing  her  little  adven- 
tures, she  thus  concludes  her  journey: — 

"  In  all  our  tour  saw  nothing  so  fine  and  beau- 
tiful as  the  views  of  sea  and  land  from  the  Downs 
over  the  East  Bourne.  The  sweet  repose  of 
the  landscape  and  sea-bay  to  Hastings,  and  the 
grandeur  of  the  various  views,  on  all  sides  be- 
tween the  valleys  of  the  South  Downs,  and  even 
above  these  summits,  circling  nearly  the  whole 
horizon,  with  soft  blue  waves." 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year,  Mrs.  Radcliffe 
spent  a  fortnight  at  Little  Hampton,  and  return- 
ing by  Haslemere,  thus  describes  the  country 
immediately  southward  of  that  place. 

u  Three  miles  of  continual  ascent,  or  descent  of 
almost  tremendous  hills,  long  and  steep  opening 
to  vast  distances,  now  obscured  in  ruin,  but  sub- 
lime in  their  obscurity — 

•  Where  wilds  immeasurably  spread, 
Seem  lengthening,  as  we  go/ — Goldsmith. 


44  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

'  These  high,  wild  hills  and  rough  uneven  roads, 
Drag  out  our  miles  and  make  them  wearisome/ 

Cymbeline. 

"  This  is  the  country,  from  which  Collins  drew 
his  first  ideas,  and  fed  his  early  taste  for  the  wild 
and  the  grand. 


f  O  !  vales  and  wild- woods,  would  he  say. 
In  yonder  grave  your  Druid  lies," 


Collins. 


"  Have  never  seen  such  wild  woody  mountains 
before  in  England  ;  they  resemble  the  forests  of 
Wetteravia  more  than  any  I  have  seen,  but  with 
this  difference,  that  there  the  mountains  are  more 
pointing,  abrupt  and  rocky,  and  that  here  the 
road  often  winds  round  the  edge  of  the  hills  into 
deep  and  most  picturesque  glades,  where  com- 
fortable cottages  lie  snug  beneath  noble  trees,  and 
ruddy  children  play  under  the  branches,  among 
the  huge  timber  felled  on  the  ground,  the  Wood- 
man's implements  and  the  thatched  hove].  Sylvan, 
or  other  rural  industry  appeared  in  every  ham- 
let. Clouds  of  smoke  from  places,  where  wood  was 
charred,  sometimes  darkened  the  air.  This  is  the 
most  woody  tract  in  Sussex,  and  probably  in  Eng- 
land. The  eastern  end  of  the  country  has  no 
wood:  the  immense  hills  stand  bare  in  all  their 
grandeur." 

The  following  notes  are  extracted  from  the. 
Journal  of  a  Tour,  made  in  the  autumn  of  1801, 
to    Southampton,    Lymington,    and    the    Isle   of 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  45 

Wight.  The  two  first  days'  journey  supply  no 
matters  of  interest :  in  the  afternoon  of  the  third 
day,  29th  Sept.  the  travellers  thus  approach  the 
beautiful  neighbourhood  of  Southampton  : 

"At  length,  the  blue  hill  tops  of  the  Isle  of 
Wight  appeared  faintly  on  the  horizon,  over  the 
stretching  forest  masses  of  the  near  scene.  At  the 
sixth  mile-stone,  entered  a  part  of  the  New  Forest ; 
beautiful  woods  and  glades  ;  thick  trees  shadow- 
ing the  road  ;  wherever  the  woods  opened,  espe- 
cially on  the  right  and  in  front,  other  rich  masses 
and  others  still  beyond,  rose  pompously.  One  of 
the  perspectives  in  front  particularly  fine,  as  we 
saw  our  road  descending  among  the  deep  woods, 
and  other  woods  rising  up  the  hills  and  crowning 
the  bold  summit  of  an  eminence,  that  seemed  to 
rear  itself  over  all  the  forest.  The  deep  gloom  of 
stormy  clouds  and  fleeting  lights  of  sunshine  ex- 
tremely various;  the  sun  often  shedding  a  misty 
glory  over  the  solemn  woods  in  the  west,  while 
sudden  and  awful  shadows  dwelt  wide  over  other 
summits.  Fassed  a  most  picturesque  hamlet  of 
green  mossed  cottages  scattered  round  a  little 
lawn,  where  the  woods  opened,  but  closed  again 
in  thicker  shades.  Four  miles  of  this  sweet 
scenery,  when  we  entered  upon  heath,  and  came 
upon  a  high  level  common,  extending  a  mile,  or 
two,  that  opened  upon  a  vast  prospect  on  either 
hand  :  in  front,  all  the  hills  of  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
from  east  to  west,  swelled  along  the  horizon.     On 


46  LIFE    AND    WAITINGS 

the  right,  the  wavy  woods  of  the  New  Forest 
bounded  all  the  western  and  northern  view.  The 
richness  of  this  vast  mass  of  tufted  woods  is  in- 
describable. Part  of  the  Southampton  water  was 
visible  on  this  side,  flowing  between  wooded  banks 
with  villages  on  its  edge.  On  the  left,  the  view 
over  the  vale  was  not  so  grand,  but  more  diversi- 
fied by  the  light  green  of  pastures  and  by  fre- 
quent villages  and  white  mansions  among  the 
woods,  that  spread  among  the  gentle  slopes. 
Showers  and  sunshine  alternately  dimmed  and 
brightened  the  hills.  The  splendour  of  the  sun 
fell,  at  times,  upon  the  forest,  in  the  west,  while  a 
heavy  shower  darkened  an  open  valley  in  the 
east,  softened  the  verdure  of  the  nearer  hills,  and 
spread  over  the  woods  and  meadows  and  villages 
a  gradual  chastening  tint,  that  was  enchanting. 
At  length,  the  spire  of  the  great  church  of  South- 
ampton appeared  over  the  woods  in  front,  while 
the  town  was  yet  unseen." 

After  a  short  notice  of  Southampton,  where 
Mrs.  Radcliffe  remained  only  two  nights,  the 
Journal  proceeds  : — 

"  After  breakfast,  set  off  for  Lyndhurst ;  passed 
along  the  head  of  the  bay,  and  by  Millbrook, 
then  the  long  bridge  and  causeway  After  a  long 
hill,  descend  upon  the  New  Forest,  and  pass  be- 
tween open  lawns  and  woods,  capping  every  little 
eminence,  and  spreading  round  like  those  of  Ken- 
sington Gardens.     Longed  for  the  speed  of  a  stag 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  47 

to  bound  along  these  lawns  and  endless  forest- 
glades.  Dined  at  the  Crown,  in  a  parlour  oppo- 
site to  the  inn,  which  was  full ;  some  forest-com- 
missioners here.  The  Princess  Sophia  of  Glou- 
cester expected  at  the  King's  House ;  shown  to  us 
by  an  elderly  woman.  Good  rooms  ;  ancient  fur- 
niture. A  wood  fire  on  the  hearth  of  the  Princess's 
room  and  on  that  of  the  dining-room  below.  All 
these  rooms  look  under  thick  lofty  trees  to  the 
forest  woods,  that  rise  close  over  the  village,  to- 
wards Brokenhurst.  Oak-benches  at  the  upper- 
end  of  Rufus'-hall,  where  the  forest  courts  are 
held — the  most  ancient  part  of  the  building.  A 
large  iron  stirrup,  called  Rufus's  stirrup. 

"  From  Lyndhurst,  the  ride  to  Brokenhurst  is 
through  five  miles  of  pompous  forest  groves,  of 
which  grandeur  is  the  characteristic,  mingled  with 
great  beauty.  The  forest  crowds  over  the  road. 
Only  two  spots  the  whole  way  where  the  trees  re- 
tire round  lawns.  Hence  to  Lymington  :  the  coun- 
try is  inclosed  ;  but  still  the  lanes  are  forest-lanes. 
Passed  Boldre,  leaving  Mr.  Gilpin's  a  mile  on 
the  left,  and  soon  came  in  view  of  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  with  Lymington,  and  its  neat  cupola- 
church.  Came  in  at  dusk  ;  made  our  way  in  the 
market-place,  between  waggons  and  cheese  piled 
up  for  the  morrow's  fair. 

"  Oct.  3.  Left  Lymington  at  half-past  three, 
in  the  packet  for  Yarmouth  ;  after  viewing  the  fair, 
and  the  fine  booths  of  trinkets  and  plate.     Passed 


48  LIFE    AND    WHITINGS 

many  charming  residences  among  the  woody  banks 
on  the  left.  Glided  smoothly  under  a  light  sum- 
mer air ;  the  evening  splendid,  and  the  scene  most 
lovely.  The  Needles  are  vast  dark  blocks  of 
rock,  tall,  but  not  pointed,  standing  out  from  the 
island  in  the  sea.  Hurst  castle,  with  its  dark  line 
of  peninsula  stretching  athwart  the  Channel.  The 
Needles  become  more  huge  seen  against  the  light, 
with  the  point  of  the  Alum  Rock  in  shade.  These 
objects,  with  the  high  line  of  the  Isle  of  Purbeck, 
faintly  grey  beyond,  composed  a  perfect  picture, 
with  most  harmonious  colouring.  The  light  silver 
grey  of  the  sea  first  met  the  eye,  then  the  dark 
Alum  Rock  projected  to  meet  Hurst  Castle,  whose 
towers  were  pencilled  in  deep  grey  beyond,  which 
softened  away  to  the  heights  of  Purbeck,  that 
closed  the  perspective.  After  sun-set,  streaks  of 
brightest  crimson  appeared  on  the  sky,  behind 
clouds,  black  and  swelling ;  the  upper  shores  clear, 
though  dark.  Approached  Yarmouth,  under  this 
sweet  twilight.  The  western  shore  of  Yarmouth 
goes  off  in  a  darkly  wooded  point,  with  many 
white  houses,  or  cottages,  among  the  trees.  Land- 
ed on  Yarmouth  quay,  small,  and  crowded  with 
people.  Dutch  sentinels  on  the  little  fort  over 
the  quay  and  rampart  of  the  old  casle.  Our  inn 
built  by  Sir  Robert  Holmes,  governor  of  the 
island,  on  the  scite,  I  fancy,  of  Henry  the  Eighth's 
old  castle.  Our  horse  and  gig  came  in  another 
packet. 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  49 

M  Oct.  4.  After  breakfasting  at  Yarmouth, 
set  out  in  a  bright  morning  for  the  Light-house 
above  the  Needles.  As  we  rose,  the  Channel  and 
the  English  coast,  from  Portsdown  Hill  (known  by 
its  long  chalk-pit)  to  the  shore  near  Pool  in  Dor- 
setshire, lay  before  us,  bounded  partly  by  the 
New  Forest  and  thick  inclosures,  and  spreading 
with  towns  and  villages  and  innumerable  seats 
and  farms,  with  a  vast  extent  of  the  northern  part 
of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  with  Southampton  Bay,  to 
Lymington,  here  and  there  a  white  house  on  the 
shore,  snug  under  trees,  and  other  house-tops  peep- 
ing out,  almost  wherever  I  directed  the  glass,  above 
the  forest.  Discovered  Lyndhurst  steeple,  with 
the  large  white  house  at  Mount  Royal,  ■  bosomed 
high  in  tufted  trees.1  The  whole  country,  from 
the  neighbourhood  of  Southampton  to  the  West, 
rises  gradually  from  the  shore  into  a  line  of  hori- 
zon little  varied  ;  but  the  richness  and  cheerful 
beauty  of  this  widely  extending  amphitheatre, 
geen  over  the  calm  blue  Channel,  with  here  and 
there  a  white  sail  and  a  ship  of  war  at  anchor, 
permit  no  desire  for  greater  variety.  As  we  rose 
upon  the  down,  this  scene  enlarged  :  the  Isle  of 
Purbeck  became  more  majestic  ;  its  outline  is  more 
mountainous  than  that  of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  with 
a  range  of  high  awful  cliffs  below.  It  was  now 
tinged  with  misty  azure,  but  the  sun  brightened 
all  the  sea  before  it.  Two  of  its  summits  appeared 
finely  in  the  perspective  from  Cowes"1  Point.     The 

vol.  T.  D 


50  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

effect  of  the  sea  so  close  on  either  hand  of  this  vast 
western  promontory,  called  the  Needle  Point,  or 
the  Alum  rock,  running  out  upon  the  ocean  like 
a  long  narrow  causeway,  is  awful.  You  have 
a  wonderful  and  rather  a  painful  sensation  of 
the  narrowness  of  the  earth  that  bears  you, 
though  it  may  be  half  a  mile,  or  more,  in  width. 
As  the  Needle  rocks  were  not  visible  from  the 
Light-house,  we  left  the  chaise,  and  descended 
the  down  half  a  mile,  and  looked  upon  them.  On 
their  summits,  which  now  seem  sharp,  and  splinter- 
ed into  ledges  and  points,  perceived  with  the  glass 
numbers  of  dark  birds  quietly  seated  ;  not  one 
took  wing,  or  uttered  any  cry.  Perhaps  it  was 
owing  to  our  great  height,  that  the  Needles  disap- 
pointed us,  and  appeared  insignificant,  compared 
with  the  grander  objects  around  us:  listened  to 
the  surge  breaking  below,  round  the  feet  of  these 
rocks.  Did  not  venture  near  enough  the  edge  to 
see  into  Alum  Bay.  Drove  to  Freshwater  Bay. 
The  inn  at  Freshwater  Gate  in  the  bottom  is  a 
little  cottage,  with  two  or  three  rooms  apart  on 
the  beach.  A  ruinous  and  desolate  shore  spreads 
and  rises  on  either  hand.  Mounted  a  promontory, 
which  confined  our  view  from  the  inn,  on  the  right. 
Greatness  and  desolation.  As  the  tide  was  coming 
in,  could  not  see  a  cave  in  the  cliff  below.  Re- 
turned to  Yarmouth  at  five."" 

The  following  is  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  account  of  a 
visit  to  the  tract  called  Undercliffe. 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  51 

"Oct.  6.  Set  off  for  the  Undercliffe,  a  tract 
of  shore  formed  by  fallen  cliffs,  and  closely  barri- 
cadoed  by  a  wall  of  rock  of  vast  height.  Entered 
upon  it  about  a  mile  from  Kniton,  and  found  our- 
selves in  such  a  scene  of  ruin,  as  we  never  saw 
before.  The  road  is,  for  the  most  part,  close  to 
the  wall  of  rock,  which  seems  to  lie  in  loose  hori- 
zontal strata,  with  frequent  perpendicular  fissures, 
which  threaten  the  trravelle  with  destruction,  as 
he  passes  sometimes  beneath  enormous  masses,  that 
lean  forward.  This  is  the  boundary  on  one  side  of 
the  road  ;  on  the  other  side,  is  an  extremely  irre- 
gular and  rugged  descent  of  half  a  mile  towards 
the  sea :  on  this  side,  there  are  sometimes  what 
may  be  called  amphitheatres  of  rock,  where  all 
the  area  is  filled  with  ruins,  which  are,  however, 
frequently  covered  with  verdure  and  underwood, 
that  stretch  up  the  sides,  with  the  wildest  pomp, 
and  shelter  here  a  cottage,  here  a  villa  among  the 
rocky  hillocks.  We  were  two  hours  and  a  half  in 
going  from  Kniton  to  the  inn  at  Steephill,  five 
miles,  W.  leading  the  horse  almost  the  whole 
way  :  a  Druid  scene  of  wildness  and  ruin.  Some- 
times the  road  led  us  into  vast  semicircular  bays 
of  rock,  filled  up  entirely  to  the  eye  with  wild 
wood  and  broken  hillocks ;  the  sea  below  appearing 
to  stretch  so  from  point  to  point,  that  it  seemed 
impossible  to  make  our  way  out,  till  the  road  led 
us  under  projecting  crags  of  the  promontory  into 
other  recesses,  and,  winding  under  these  threaten- 
d2 


52  LIFE    AND   WRITINGS 

ing  walls,  again  led  near  the  sea,  on  which  I 
looked  down,  not  without  terror.  Descended  upon 
the  romantic  and  sweet  village  of  St.  Lawrence, 
among  thickets  on  a  hill,  near  the  shore.  Beauti- 
ful cottages,  covered  with  ivy  even  to  the  chimney 
tops,  with  each  its  garden,  and  some  with  little 
orchards  hung  with  golden  fruit ;  clear,  gushing 
rills  passing  under  the  shades  to  the  sea.  A  mile 
beyond,  the  beautiful  village  of  Steephill,  in  the 
same  style.  Went  to  the  New  Inn,  standing  on  a 
hill,  with  a  wide  sea  view  in  front,  half  a  mile 
off,  and  at  the  foot  of  St.  Boniface  Downs,  whose 
steep  green  sides  rise  to  a  tremendous  height  be- 
hind it,  having  below  them,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
little  woody  village  of  St.  Boniface,  with  its  beauti- 
ful cottages  and  villas.*" 

The  remaining  memoranda  of.  the  visit  to  Steep- 
hill,  are  too  long  to  be  extracted,  but  contain  some 
beautiful  descriptions,  and  several  vivid  notices  of 
the  effects  of  light,  as  for  example  : — "  The  sea  in 
gloom,  with  gleams  of  cold  silvery  light  upon  it, 
where  the  clouds  began  to  break :  these  lights 
finely  marked  the  distances  on  the  grand  surface  of 
the  ocean,  as  they  fell  in  blue  lines.1''  Again,  "  Sun- 
lights on  the  sea,  and,  now  and  then,  bright  green 
spots  between  black  shadows;" — in  the  evening 
"  a  fiery  sun-set  with  sullen  clouds."  The  follow- 
ing short  recollection  of  a  storm  is  full  of  feeling 
and  power : — 
"  After  dark,  a  storm,  with  thunder  and  lightning; 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  53 

listened  to  the  strong,  steady  force  of  the  wind  and 
waves  below.  The  thunder  rolled  and  burst  at 
intervals,  and  often  the  sound  was  so  mingled  with 
that  of  the  wind  and  waves,  as  to  be  scarcely  dis- 
tinguished from  it.  No  complaining  of  the  wind, 
but  a  strong  and  awful  monotony.  Lightning,  very 
blue,  showed  at  moments  the  foaming  waves  far 
out :  utter  darkness  between  the  flashes.  Glad 
to  hear  from  the  other  side  of  the  house,  cheerful 
voices  talking,  or  singing.  When  the  storm  sub- 
sided, the  thunder  rolled  away  towards  the  Sussex 
coast.  This  display  of  the  elements  was  the  grand- 
est scene  I  ever  beheld  ;  a  token  of  God  directing 
his  world.  What  particularly  struck  me  was  the 
appearance  of  irresistible  power,  which  the  deep 
monotonous  sound  of  the  wind  and  surge  conveyed. 
Nothing  sudden  ;  nothing  laboured  ;  all  a  conti- 
nuance of t sure  power,  without  effort." 

From  Steephill  the  travellers  proceeded  to  Ryde, 
where  Mrs.  Radcliffe  made  the  following  charac- 
teristic remarks : —  "  Rejoice  to  look  again  on  a 
peopled  sea,  and  prefer  this  point  of  the  Isle,  for 
animated  and  beautiful  scenery,  to  any  other. 
The  back  of  the  island  has  very  extensive  views ; 
and,  for  that  extensiveness,  may  be  called  grand  ; 
but  there  are  no  mountain  lines,  no  shapes,  that 
overwhelm  us  with  admiration :  the  want  of  wood 
forbids  them  magnificence.  The  undercliff  is  wild 
and  romantic,  rather  than  grand ;  but  the  sea  hori- 
zon from  it,  is  often  very  grand.     Upon  the  whole, 


54  LIFE    AND    WHITINGS 

I  prefer  rich  beauty  to  wild  beauty,  unless  accom- 
panied by  such  shapes  of  grandeur  as  verge  upon 
the  sublime.  Lovely  sun-set ;  a  roseate,  melting 
into  saffron  and  shades  of  blue  ;  some  light  purple 
streaks.  Below,  the  dark  woody  line  of  shore  bend- 
ing towards  Cowes  ;  the  bay  at  its  feet,  purpled 
from  the  clouds.  All  this  seen  from  our  bed-room 
windows,  above  and  between  lofty  trees." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  RadclifFe  returned  by  Salisbury. 
We  extract  from  the  journal  the  approach  to 
Salisbury  and  the  description  of  its  Cathedral. 

"  Oct.  13.    Rainy  morning;  cleared  up  to  a  love- 
ly afternoon.     Left  Southampton  before  twelve,  for 
Salisbury.     Turned  out  of  the  road,  at  the  village 
of  Totting,  and  soon  entered  upon  the  skirts  of 
the  New  Forest,   but  saw  no  avenues  there,  no 
lovely  forest-glades,  rather  forest-land,  than  forest ; 
but  we  had  often  rich  woody  views  into  the  vale, 
near    Southampton  on  the  right,   and    continual 
forests  rising  on  the  left ;    and  a  few  miles  from 
Plaitford,  came  upon  some  of  the  sweetest  scenery 
of  the  New  Forest.     Upon  a  wild  glade,   touching 
effect  of  misty  light,  beyond  its  gloom.     Sometimes 
an  opening  in  the  near  copses  showed  a  distant 
perspective  of  deep  shade.     About  five  miles  from 
Salisbury,  gain  the  summit  of  a  high  ridge,  and 
look  at  once  upon  a  new  and  grander  ridge  large 
and  sharper  hills  rising  to  a  great  extent,  with  the 
vast    Cathedral  and  lofty  spire   of    Salisbury  in 
front.     We  had  lingered  so  much  on  our  road, 


OF    MRS.    RADJLIFFE.  55 

that  as  we  entered  Salisbury,  a  new  moon  gave  us 
faintly  the  shadow  of  its  sublime  Cathedral,  with 
its  pointed  roofs  and  its  pinnacles  and  its  noble 
spire.  How  could  Mr.  Gilpin  prefer  a  tower  to 
it !  Saw,  as  we  passed,  the  moonlight  shining 
through  the  windows  of  the  aisles  and  touching 
aslant  the  lofty  spire,  while  the  elms  beside  it 
were  in  deep  shade.  Had  entered  the  city  by  a 
deep  Gothic  gateway,  and  saw  others  lighted  up  in 
perspective,  in  a  street,  out  of  which  we  turned  to 
our  inn,  the  Antelope — a  very  good  inn. 

"  Oct.  14.  Went,  in  the  rain,  to  the  Cathedral  : 
entered  it  just  as  the  organ  and  chaunt  struck  up ; 
very  fine,  but  not  so  solemn,  as  at  Canterbury. 
The  church  most  light,  beautiful  and  elegant ; 
but  it  did  not  affect  me,  like  the  solemn  simplicity, 
the  awful  roofs  and  grand  perspective  of  Canter- 
bury. The  tone  of  the  organ,  too,  very  good,  but 
did  not  listen  for  its  swelling  and  dying  sounds,  as 
through  the  vast  aisles  of  Canterbury ;  there  is 
not  space  for  them  to  roll  in,  and  murmur  afar  off, 
as  there.  Was  much  struck  with  the  effigies  of 
the  dead,  laid  out  on  each  side  of  the  great  aisle, 
from  pillar  to  pillar.  Having  been  brought  by 
Mr.  Wyatt  from  St.  Mary's  Chapel,  that  termi- 
nates the  choir,  they  have  been  placed  on  a  raised 
step,  that  seems  indeed  to  have  been  originally 
designed  for  them.  The  pillars  of  this  Cathedral 
are  in  Gothic  clusters,  not  of  the  slender  form, 
that  afterwards  prevailed,  but,  as  Mr.  Gilpin  says. 


56  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

"when  Saxon  heaviness  first  began  to  give  way." 
Their  effect  is  elegant.  They  are  washed  of  a 
stone  colour,  as  are  the  walls  and  roofs  ;  the  last 
are  without  tracery,  and  are  marked  as  if  of  brick. 
The  arches  are  obtusely  pointed,  having  one  nar- 
row vein  of  open  work  running  near  the  oitfer 
edge,  which  gives  lightness  to  them.* 

After  an  attempt  to  visit  Stonehenge,  which  was 
frustrated  by  a  violent  storm,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rad- 
clifFe  returned,  in  the  leisurely  manner  which  they 
preferred,  to  London. 

In  the  autumn  of  1802,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Radcliffe 
took  a  journey  to  Leicester  and  Warwick,  and  re- 
turned by  Woodstock  and  Oxford.  From  the 
journal  kept  during  that  tour,  the  following  de- 
scriptions of  Kenil worth,  of  one  or  two  scenes  in 
Warwick  Castle,  and  of  Blenheim,  are  perhaps 
most  worthy  of  selection.  Both  Warwick  Castle 
and  Blenheim  are  described  with  great  minuteness  ; 
but  both  these  mansions  are  so  generally  known, 
that  it  is  thought  sufficient  to  extract  such  portions 
of  the  accounts  of  them  only,  as  are  most  charac- 
teristic of  the  writer's  feelings  and  tastes. 

Kenilworth. 

"  Left  Coventry  at  half  past  twelve,  and  passed 
through  a  pleasant  well-wooded  country  to  Kenil- 
worth. Almost  every  village  over-topped  with 
lofty  trees.  Passed  for  some  miles  over  Kenil- 
worth Chase,  by  a  straight  road  of  noble  breadth, 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  57 

bordered  with  forest.  Part  of  this  forest  was,  in 
former  times,  cut  down,  in  order  to  dislodge  rob- 
bers. The  gate  of  the  castle,  to  which  we  drove 
up,  is  in  the  grey  square  tower,  built  on  a  high 
rock,  by  Leicester.  This  gate  being  now  a  resi- 
dence, the  former  entrance  by  it  to  the  court  of 
the  Castle  is  stopped  up,  and  we  passed  through 
the  garden,  at  its  side,  into  the  green  and  open 
area,  that  was  once  the  grand  court  of  the  castle. 
Hence  we  looked  up  to  the  noble  masses  of  ruin, 
that  still  stand"  proudly,  and  form  three  broken  and 
irregular  sides  of  what  was  once  the  inner  court. 
Of  the  buildings  that  formed  the  fourth  side,  there 
are  now  no  vestiges,  except  the  knolliness  of  the 
ground,  where  they  once  stood,  may  be  called 
such,  and  except  part  of  the  buildings  still  called 
Leicester's,  these  having  been  built  by  him.  These 
are  a  fine  mass  of  ruined  walls,  covered  with  thick- 
est ivy,  on  the  left ;  on  the  right,  stands  a  more 
noble  mass,  with  three  lofty  arches  in  a  row,  going 
the  whole  depth  of  the  wall,  sixteen  feet :  this  is 
called  Caesar's  Tower,  and,  though  the  oldest  part  of 
the  Castle,  appears,  on  the  outside,  the  freshest  and 
newest.  It  is  of  a  greyer  and  more  solid  stone 
than  the  rest.  This,  too,  is  finely  hung  with  ivy. 
Between  these  masses,  in  perspective,  forming  the 
third  side  of  the  court,  is  the  most  picturesque 
remainder  of  the  castle,  though  Caesar's  Tower  is 
the  grandest.  This  was  once  the  great  hall,  or 
banquet! rig-room.  Its  three  beautiful  pointed 
d5 


58  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

window-frames  are  there  still ;  and  the  arch  of  a 
Gothic  door,  most  elegantly  twined  with  vine-leaves, 
all  now  hung  and  clustered  with  the  richest  dra- 
pery of  ivy.  The  trunk  of  some  of  this  ivy  is  of 
great  thickness,  and  it  is  so  old,  that  fti  some 
places,  the  branches  are  sapless  and  leafless,  and 
the  grey  stalks  seemed  to  crawl  about  the  ruin  in 
sympathy.  Other  remains  of  buildings  partly 
connect  the  three  sides  of  the  court,  and  are  inter- 
mingled and  crowned  with  alder  and  ash  plants. 
This  view  of  the  ruin  was  very  striking ;  the  three 
chief  masses  great  and  solemn,  without  being  beau- 
tiful. They  spoke  at  once  to  the  imagination, 
with  the  force  and  simplicity  of  truth,  the  nothing- 
ness and  brevity  of  this  life — '  generations  have 
beheld  us  and  passed  away,  as  you  now  behold 
us,  and  shall  pass  away  :  they  thought  of  the 
generations  before  them,  as  you  now  think  of  them, 
and  as  future  ages  shall  think  of  you.  We  have 
witnessed  this,  yet  we  remain ;  the  voices  that 
revelled  beneath  us  are  heard  no  more,  yet  the 
winds  of  Heaven  still  sound  in  our  ivy.'  And  a 
still  and  solemn  sound  it  was  as  we  stood  looking 
up  at  these  walls." 

Scenes  in  Warwick  Castle. 
"  After  leaving  the  great  hall,  went,  on  the  left, 
into  the  chapel — a  plain  memorable  chapel,  lined 
with  oak ;  then  to  the  armoury,  a  long,  narrow 
gallery,  or  rather  a  suite  of  narrow  rooms,  com- 
municating  by  small  Gothic  doorways,    and   ex- 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  59 

tending,  perhaps,  nearly  the  whole  length  of  the 
Castle,  with  tall  windows  of  painted  glass,  bowing 
out  into  the  court  of  the  Castle.  The  walls  of  this 
armoury  were  covered  with  weapons  of  various 
kinds  and  sizes,  from  the  Indian  war-spear,  to  the 
Highland  dirk,  with  a  knife  and  fork  tucked  into 
the  same  sheath.  But  what  struck  me  most  was 
near  the  end  of  the  gallery  (when  it  makes  a  sud- 
den turn  into  the  tower  that  terminates  the  cas- 
tle), where  appeared  before  me  a  broad,  yet  dark 
staircase  of  oak,  and  at  the  foot  of  it,  as  if  guard- 
ing the  passage,  a  large  figure  in  complete  armour, 
the  beaver  down,  and  a  sword  in  its  hand  !  The 
general  twilight,  with  the  last  western  gleam  break- 
ing through  the  painted  window  at  the  foot  of  the 
stair-case,  and  touching  the  bronze,  gave  full  effect 
to  this  scene,  and  heightened  the  obscurity  of  the 
stairs,  in  perspective.  This  armour  came  from  Ger- 
many ;  our  conductor  knew  no  more.  Saw  the 
brass  coat,  shot-proof,  worn  by  Lord  Brooke  when 
he  was  shot  in  the  eye  during  his  attack  upon 
Lichfield  Cathedral.  On  the  opposite  side,  a  com- 
plete suit  of  black  armour,  the  knees  with  pro- 
jecting points :  could  learn  nothing  of  its  history. 
Left  the  building  with  regret.  Paused  again  in 
the  court  to  admire  the  beautiful  lofty  acacias  and 
other  noble  trees  surrounding  the  lawn,  and  the 
most  majestic  towers  forming  the  grand  front. 
The  octagon  tower,  rising  in  the  angle  of  the 
walls   near  the    house-door,    the   most  beautiful, 


60  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

as  far  as  regards  proportion  ;  the  one  nearest  the 
house  the  most  venerable  and  warlike.  Near  the 
summit  an  embattled  overhanging  gallery,  where 
formerly,  no  doubt,  sentinels  used  to  pace  during 
the  night,  looked  down  upon  the  walls  of  the  Cas- 
tle, the  rivers  and  the  country  far  and  wide,  re- 
ceived the  watch-word  from  the  sentinel,  perched 
in  the  little  watch-tower,  higher  still  and  seeing 
farther  in  the  moonlight,  and  repeated  it  to  the 
soldiers  on  guard  on  the  walls  and  gates  below. 
Before  those  great  gates  and  underneath  these 
towers,  Shakspeare's  ghost  might  have  stalked ; 
they  are  in  the  very  character  and  spirit  of  such 
an  apparition,  grand  and  wild  and  strange ;  there 
should,  however,  have  been  more  extent.  Stayed 
before  these  grey  towers  till  the  last  twilight. 

Blenheim. 
"  Lovely  day.  At  eleven,  walked  through  the 
Park.  The  triumphal  arch,  at  the  entrance,  has  too 
much  the  air  of  a  merely  handsome  gateway ;  the 
convenient  division  into  passages  in  the  ordinary 
mode  of  considerable  gates,  leaves  nothing  ap- 
propriate to  Fame.  The  view  of  the  Park,  with 
the  turrets  of  the  palace,  of  the  mass  of  wood 
beyond,  the  verdant  sweep  of  the  intermediate 
ground,  that  descends  to  the  water,  with  the 
water  itself  and  the  Palladian  bridge  beyond,  is 
very  striking,  a  few  paces  after  the  entrance. 
The  palace  itself,  though  here   seen  beyond  and 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  61 

over  clumps  of  trees,  appears  to  greater  advan- 
tage than  when  more  distinctly  viewed  :  its  many 
turrets,  now  beheld  in  clusters,  have  an  air  of 
grandeur,  which  they  want  when  separately  ob_ 
servable.  As  we  advance,  the  groves  on  the 
left  thicken  and  have  a  forest-like  shade ;  but 
the  view  on  the  rising  ground,  including  the  ce- 
lebrated pillar,  is  too  much  broken  into  parts. 
Though  the  ground  rises  finely,  its  great  flowing 
lines  are  spoiled  by  too  many  groves ;  there  should 
have  been  one,  or  two,  grand  masses  of  wood,  and 
the  rest  sweeping  lawn.  This  park  is  not  com- 
parable with  that  at  Knole,  either  for  swell  and 
variety  of  surface,  or  for  grandeur  and  disposition 
of  wood  ;  no  such  enchanting  groves  of  plane  and 
birch  and  oak,  as  there.  But  a  very  grand  ave- 
nue extends  from  the  Oxford  gate  to  the  palace. 
On  entering  the  garden,  of  finest  turf  and  shade, 
pass  the  east  front  to  the  lawn  of  the  back  front, 
opening  to  a  view  of  distant  hills  between  the 
high  groves.  The  back  front  of  the  house  much 
the  best ;  more  simple,  and,  seen  in  perspective, 
very  good.  Parterres  in  the  flower-garden,  with 
basket-work  round  them,  in  the  pretty  fashion  of 
the  last  century  in  France.  Hence,  through  deep 
shade  to  the  sheep-walk,  where  the  light  opens 
upon  the  country,  and  then  soon  look  down  upon 
another  bridge  and  water.  This  walk  continues 
on  the  brow,  for  about  half  a  mile,  very  sweetly, 
and  leads  to  a  sloping  lawn  shaded  with  the  noblest 


62  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

trees  in  the  garden.  More  struck  with  this  spot 
than  with  any,  except  about  the  large  lake.  First, 
two  poplars  of  most  astonishing  height,  much 
larger  than  those  in  the  avenue  at  Manheim.  At 
their  feet,  the  light  green  spray  foliage  of  these 
deciduous  cypresses  had  a  most  charming  effect. 
Near  the  poplars,  a  lofty  plane,  but  inferior  in 
height.  Near  this,  a  surprising  Portugal  laurel 
swept  the  ground,  and  spread  to  a  vast  circum- 
ference; a  very  extraordinary  tree  for  size.  De- 
lighted with  the  steep  green  slope,  the  water  and 
bridge  below,  the  abrupt  woody  banks  opposite, 
and,  above  all,  the  grandeur  of  the  shades.  Pass 
the  bridge  :  on  the  right,  the  massy  rocks  of  the 
cascade,  but  no  water ;  on  the  left,  the  water 
winding  beyond  the  woody  banks  ;  a  highly  tufted 
island,  with  a  wooden  building  near  its  margin, 
very  picturesque. 

*•  Over  a  sofa,  in  the  dining-room,  a  large  family 
picture  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  The  Duke  seated, 
and  turning  to  the  Marquis  of  Blandford,  when  a 
boy,  with  an  air  and  countenance  in  which  the 
nobleman  and  the  good  man  are  blended ;  more 
pleasing  and  dignified  than  Romney's  portrait  of 
him.  The  Duchess,  of  pleasing  countenance,  and 
much  sweetness  in  her  eyes.  Of  the  children,  the 
most  striking  is  Lady  Charlotte  (Nares),  five  or 
six  years  old,  playfully  holding  a  mask,  and  laugh- 
ing behind  it,  as  she  frightens  her  sister,  who 
draws  back  in  doubt  and  with  some  apprehension 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  63 

but  calmly.  The  figure  of  Lady  C.  has  all  the 
natural,  playful  grace  of  a  child,  though  the  atti- 
tude is  rather  overstrained.  Vandyke's  portrait  of 
Charles  the  First's  Queen  is  not  so  fine  as  his 
picture  of  her  in  the  domestic  drawing-room  at 
Warwick  Castle. 

"  It  is  in  the  superior  colours  and  expressive 
drawing  of  the  tapestry,  that  Blenheim  chiefly  ex- 
cels the  interior  decorations  of  other  great  man- 
sions. That  in  the  state  room  is  from  Brussels, 
and  most  exquisite  ;  presented  by  that  city  to  the 
great  Duke.  It  entirely  covers  the  lofty  walls. 
Each  compartment  displays  a  different  siege  or 
battle,  and  the  distance,  fading  often  into  blue 
hills,  is  so  finely  shaded,  that  the  whole  seems 
almost  a  living  prospect,  and  that  you  might  step 
into  the  scene.  The  figures  in  the  foreground 
are  nearly  as  large  as  life,  and  chiefly  portraits  : 
they  are  admirably  grouped,  and  the  action  not 
only  spirited  and  natural,  but  often  full  of  charac- 
ter. The  Duke  is  always  on  horseback,  and  has 
the  same  air  of  countenance — attentive  and  eager  ; 
the  features  somewhat  thin.  The  face  of  a  French 
spy,  under  examination  before  the  Duke,  is  ad- 
mirable; watchful,  sedate,  and  firm.  In  the  next 
compartment  is  a  very  spirited  figure  of  Lord 
Cadogan,  on  horseback,  his  hat  held  off  at  arm's 
length,  receiving  orders  from  the  Duke.  His 
eagerness,  proud  submission,  and  impatience  to 
be  gone,  while  he  bends  to  listen,  and  can  scarcely 


64  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

rein  his  impatient  charger,  are  all  conspicuous. 
His  faithful  dog,  that  would  be  near  him  in  every 
battle,  and  that  returned  safe  home  at  last,  is  wait- 
ing beside  him." 

In  June  1805,  Mrs.  Radcliffe  went  to  see  Bel- 
vedere House,  the  seat  of  Lord  Eardley.  The 
following  is  an  extract  from  her  account  of  that 
mansion. 

"  The  park  entrance  from  Lexden  Heath  is 
through  a  low,  iron  gate,  beyond  which  is  seen  the 
gravel  road,  winding  like  a  path,  among  the  turf, 
under  the  stately  branches  of  clumps  of  oak,  &c. 
Neither  the  house,  nor  any  good  prospect  is  visi- 
ble here ;  but,  as  you  advance  along  the  elegant 
plain  of  the  park,  a  blue  distance  of  the  Essex 
hills  appears  beneath  the  low-spread  branches  of 
oaks,  where  there  is  a  seat;  on  the  right,  the 
Grecian  portico  of  the  house,  among  the  deep 
shades,  which  exclude  all  other  view.  The  en- 
trance is  to  a  light,  elegant  hall,  or  vestibule,  of 
French  grey  stucco,  as  are  all  the  extensive  pas- 
sages of  the  house,  the  floors  covered  with  oil- 
cloth, of  a  small  pattern,  in  shades  of  blue.  On 
■the  right,  through  an  ante-room  of  elegant  simpli- 
city, pass  to  a  dining-room ;  the  walls  of  French- 
grey  ;  silk-moreen  curtains,  orange ;  chocolate-co- 
loured fringe.  Over  the  door,  two  exquisite  views 
of  Venice,  by  Canaletti ;  the  Alchymist,  Teniers, 
in  a  corner  near  the  fire ;  then  Rembrandt  (by  him- 
self),  looking  out   of  the  picture,    with  a  broad 


OF    MRS.    HADCLIFFE.  65 

smile,  a  coarse  but  arch  countenance ;  Van 
Trump,  the  Dutch  Admiral,  a  bluff  countenance, 
as  if  the  habits  of  a  seaman  predominated  over 
those  of  the  officer.  After  seeing  several  other 
very  fine  pictures  here,  pass  some  smaller  rooms 
and  elegant  passages  to  the  red  drawing-room,  the 
finest  in  the  house  ;  hung  with  crimson  damask, 
bordered  with  gold;  curtains  and  chairs  the  same, 
and  a  most  rich  carpet,  in  crimson  and  black.  A 
finely  stuccoed  carved  ceiling ;  a  large  bow-window 
looking  upon  the  woods  of  the  park.  In  a  shaded 
corner,  near  the  chimney,  a  most  exquisite  Claude, 
an  evening  view,  perhaps  over  the  Campagna  of 
Rome.  The  sight  of  this  picture  imparted  much 
of  the  luxurious  repose  and  satisfaction,  which  we 
derive  from  contemplating  the  finest  scenes  of  Na- 
ture. Here  was  the  poet,  as  well  as  the  painter, 
touching  the  imagination,  and  making  you  see 
more  than  the  picture  contained.  You  saw  the 
real  light  of  the  sun,  you  breathed  the  air  of  the 
country,  you  felt  all  the  circumstances  of  a  luxu- 
rious climate  on  the  most  serene  and  beautiful 
landscape ;  and,  the  mind  being  thus  softened,  you 
almost  fancied  you  heard  Italian  music  on  the  air 
— the  music  of  Paisiello ;  and  such,  doubtless, 
were  the  scenes  that  inspired  him.  Passed  into 
smaller  rooms,  and  by  the  same  elegant  lobbies,  to 
the  summer  drawing-room,  where  the  bowed  ■win- 
dow looks  down  upon  a  noble  sweep  of  the 
Thames,    with   the  well-wooded   sloping  hills   of 


66  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

Essex  in  the  distance.  The  noble  simplicity 
of  this  long  bend  of  the  Thames,  and  of  the 
whole  scene,  is  very  striking.  The  eye  passes 
abruptly,  between  the  hanging  woods  of  two  jutting 
eminences  of  the  park,  to  the  green  level  below, 
which  forms  in  front  a  perfect  bow  of  several 
miles.  The  woods  near  the  house  are  so  planted, 
as  to  conceal  the  entrance  and  exit  of  the  river 
upon  the  plains  below,  leaving  nothing  of  it  visi- 
ble but  that  line  of  perfect  grace  and  grandeur 
which  it  marks  between  the  two  green  shores,  while 
the  vessels  seem  to  steal  upon  the  scene,  appearing 
and  disappearing,  on  either  hand,  from  behind 
the  woods.  The  dark  verdure  of  these,  the  lighter 
green  of  the  plain  beneath,  the  silver  grey  of  the 
river  that  bounds  it,  the  white  sails  and  various 
shades  of  the  fleeting  vessels,  ships  with  clustering 
top-gallant  sails,  sloops  with  the  stretching  and  ele- 
gantly swelling  sails  at  their  heads  and  above  them, 
and  skiffs,  or  other  boats,  with  their  little  sprit- 
sails,  too  often  bending  low  :—  these,  with  the  hills 
of  Essex  bending  into  bluish  distance,  form  alto- 
gether a  soothing  harmony  of  tints  and  objects. — 
Among  other  pictures  that  struck  me,  (especially 
the  family  of  Snyders,  by  Rubens,)  was  one  of 
Wouvermans,  representing  the  dark  gate  of  a 
fort,  with  cavaliers  on  war-horses,  waiting  impa- 
tiently for  admittance,  their  horses  rearing  and 
prancing  ;  upon  the  high,  shadowing  walls,  shrubs 
appear  against  the  light  sky,  and  above  them  is 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  67 

seen  a  high  embankment,  with  a  cannon  pointed 
downwards,  and  near  it  a  tree,  down  which  a  man  is 
hastily  descending,  as  if  he  had  been  overlooking  a 
skirmish  on  the  plains  below,  (not  in  view,)  whence 
the  party  without  the  gate  seem  to  have  made 
a  precipitate  retreat.  They  are,  perhaps,  waiting 
till  he  has  reported  to  the  guard  at  the  gate,  whe- 
ther they  are  friends  or  enemies.  The  impatience 
for  admittance  of  those  who  think  themselves  likely 
to  be  pursued,  the  cautious  apprehension  of  those 
within  the  fort,  and  the  unseen  and  doubtful 
battle,  hinted  at  by  the  man  on  the  tree,  render 
this  a  very  interesting  picture. 

"  The  grand  staircase,  by  which  we  passed  to 
the  room  over  this,  is  remarkable  for  its  lightness 
and  elegance.  All  its  light  is  received  from  a 
raised  frame  of  glass,  which  crowns  a  most  richly 
stuccoed  roof,  that  forms  a  broad  border  only 
round  it.  I  was  much  struck  with  the  lightness, 
proportion,  and  elegance  of  this  staircased  hall, 
and  indeed  with  the  numerous  long  passages  of 
the  house.  In  the  family  dining-room  the  pictures 
are  all  portraits.  One  of  the  late  Lady  Eardley, 
when  young,  is  a  profile  of  most  exquisite  sweet- 
ness. 

t  Softness  and  sweetest  innocence  she  wears, 
And  looks  like  Nature,  in  the  world's  first  bloom.' 

Strong  countenance  of  a  tutor  of  Lord  Eardley. 
No  view,  but  of  the  Park,  from  any  of  these  rooms; 
nor  from  the  library,  opening  by  pillars  from  a 


68  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

kind  of  ante-room,   or  vestibule.     Before  a  cone 
at  the  upper  end,  is  a  most  noble  mahogany  library- 
table  with  drawers.      Between    the  windows    are 
semi-circular  inlaid  tables,  with  deep  drawers  for 
maps  ;  some  valuable  modern  books,  but  no  old 
ones.     The  art  of  giving  effect  to  the  finest  views, 
by  permitting  them  to  be  seen  only  from  the  rooms 
whence  they  may  be  observed  without  interruption 
and  in  their  perfection,  is  carried  very  far  here ; 
for,  as  you  advance  through  the  grounds  to  the 
house,  the  eye  is  confined  by  the  woods ;  and  is 
suffered  only  once  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  distance 
under  the  spreading  shades,  sufficient  to  touch  the 
imagination   and  excite    expectation    of   a  scene, 
whose  grandeur  and  simplicity,  when  at  length  it 
does  appear,  fully  repays  the  impatience  of  curi- 
osity.    We  did  not  see  the  woody  grounds  ex- 
tending very  far  along  the  brow  over  the  Thames, 
nor  the  tower  of  the  Belvedere,  nearly  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  them  and  on  their  highest  point.     This 
must  look  down  suddenly  upon  a  new  scene  of  the 
river,  where  it  spreads  into  that  broad  bay,  whose 
eastern  point  projects  opposite  to  the  broken  steeps 
of  Purfleet,   and    comprehends    within   its  curve 
Erith,  with  its  ivied  church,  and  the  hills  around 
it,  varied  with  woods  and  villas,  and  whose  west- 
ern point  lies  near  the  foot  of  this  eminence,  con- 
cealed by  the  woods.     But  from  a  window  of  this 
lofty  tower  I  doubt  not  the  eye  extends  to  Graves- 
end  in  the  east,  and  probably  further.     Its  south- 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  69 

em  window  must  look  athwart  the  back  of  Shooter's 
Hill  to  the  Knockholt  beeches  on  the  ridge  near 
Seven-oaks  ;  and  its  northern  one  over  Epping 
Forest  and  a  great  part  of  Essex.  Wherever  the 
wood- walks  open,  there  must  be  a  glimpse  of  the 
river,  and  white  sails  gliding  athwart  the  vista." 

In  the  autumn  of  1807,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Radcliffe 
visited  Knole  House  for  the  second  time.  The 
following  is  a  small  portion  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  re- 
miniscences of  the  house,  and  especially  of  its  pic- 
tures. 

"  We  were  astonished  at  the  extent  of  this 
mansion,  and  at  its  vast  collection  of  portraits. 
Warwick  Castle  has  the  greatest  number  of  Van- 
dyke's pictures  ;  Blenheim  of  Rubens's  ;  Knole  of 
Holbein's,  with  many  of  Vandyke  too.  The  old 
porter  at  the  first  gate  had  lived  about  the  spot 
fifty  years  ;  was  there  in  the  time  of  the  late  Duke's 
grandfather :  those  were  grand  times  ;  the  late 
Dukes  were  very  good,  but  things  had  got  dearer 
then.  When  we  were  going,  he  desired  Mr.  R. 
to  write  our  names  in  the  book,  that  my  lord  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  who  had  been  there. 

*         #         *         #         #  * 

At  the  upper  end  of  the  lofty  and  noble  hall, 
where  the  high  table  stood,  is  now  a  very  large 
statue  of  Demosthenes,  robed,  with  buskined  feet 
and  a  book  or  scrowl  in  his  hand;  the  attitude 
composed  ;  the  countenance  expresses  nothing  of 
the  energy  and  fire  that  characterize  his  eloquence. 


70  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

It  was  bought  by  the  late  Duke  in  Italy,  for 
seven  hundred  pounds.  The  brown  gallery  is  al- 
most covered  with  portraits  by  Holbein,  the  great- 
est assemblage  of  famous  persons  I  ever  saw.  In 
the  little  closet  of  entrance,  the  countenance  of 
Giardini,  the  composer,  gives  you  the  idea  that 
he  is  listening  to  the  long-drawn  notes  of  his  own 
violin.  Holbein's  Erasmus,  in  the  gallery,  must 
be  truth  itself :  the  keen  and  quick,  small  eye ; 
the  humorous,  though  serious  smile ;  the  thin, 
finely-pointed,  yet  bending  nose  ;  the  thin-drawn 
lips  and  chin,  are  all  exquisite.  In^a  picture  con- 
taining three  portraits,  that  in  the  middle  is  of 
Luther.  His  bluff,  blunt,  strong  habits  of  ex- 
pression ;  his  dauntless  and  persevering  mind  ;  his 
consciousness  of  the  truth  and  importance  of  his 
cause,  and  his  resolution  to  maintain  it,  are  well  ex- 
pressed :  strength  and  resolution  in  the  chin.  On 
his  right  is  Melancthon,  reasoning,  acute,  amiable. 
On  his  left,  Pomeranius;  a  somewhat  sly  and 
monkish  countenance.  Queen  Elizabeth  and  se- 
veral of  her  Court :  Salisbury,  civil,  sagacious  and 
fastidious  ;  effeminate  ;  very  fair  :  Burleigh,  with 
a  steady,  penetrating,  grey  eye,  high  forehead, 
with  black  hair ;  a  cast  of  humour :  Leicester, 
sturdy  and  crafty. 

"Lord  Surrey,  the  poet,  young,  thin  and  melan- 
choly. No  very  fine  pictures  in  what  is  called  Lady 
Betty  Germain's  room,  which  looks  delightfullv 
upon   the  green  and  stately  alleys  of  the  garden. 


OF    MRS.     RADCLIFFE.  71 

High  state-bed ;  dingy  white  plumes  crown  the 
bed-posts.  In  the  dressing-room  are  three  Earls 
of  Dorset,  and  drawings  by  Titian  and  Michael 
Angelo.  In  another  room  a  state-bed,  presented 
by  James  the  First.  In  the  dressing-room,  among 
many  fine  pictures,  is  one  of  Sir  Theodore  Mayerne, 
phvsician  to  James  the  First,  and  to  two  of  his 
successors,  by  Vandyke :  he  is  seated  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  his  right  hand  rests  on  a  human  skull ; 
his  own  head  is  grey,  and  he  looks  at  you  with  a 
mild  and  sensible  countenance,  turned  a  little 
towards  his  left  shoulder  ;  the  fading  look  of  age, 
without  actual  weakness. 

"  In  the  great  dining-room  below,  Hoppners 
copy  of  his  portrait  of  Mr.  Pitt,  a  strong,  and, 
I  think,  not  a  flattering  likeness.  Fletcher,  in- 
telligent, thoughtful,  and  tender ;  brown  com- 
plexion, acute  black  eyes.  Beaumont,  florid,  with 
light  blue  eyes ;  of  an  open,  cheerful,  handsome 
countenance.  Near  the  windows  is  a  group  of 
portraits,  painted  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  with 
one  of  himself,  in  the  midst  of  these  his  familiar 
friends,  now  all  dead.  On  his  right  is  Doctor 
Johnson,  drawn  bareheaded — a  severe  deduction 
from  the  harmonies  of  any  frame  :  it  is  nearly  a 
profile ;  intense  thought  and  anxiety  press  down 
the  benevolent  brow.  On  the  left  is  Goldsmith, 
painted  in  the  same  style,  a  strong  countenance, 
but  of  very  different  expression  ;  coarse ;  the  eye- 
brows not  bent,  like  Johnson's,  firmly  and  evenly 


72  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

over  the  eyes,  but  only  towards  the  nose ;  the 
other  end  highly  hoisted,  as  if  with  caprice ; 
unpleasing  countenance  ;  nothing  of  the  goodness 
of  Johnson.  Garrick,  with  a  most  pleasant  and 
living  look,  piercing  eyes  fixed  upon  you,  with 
perfect  ease  and  kindness,  as  he  leans  with  both 
arms  on  a  table ;  older  than  the  portraits  I  have 
seen.  Burke,  vulgarized  by  Opie.  Betterton,  the 
actor,  manly,  sensible  face.  Pope,  old,  wrinkled, 
spectre-like.  Swift,  gentle  in  comparison  with 
Pope.  Otway,  heavy,  squalid,  unhappy  ;  yet  ten- 
der countenance,  but  not  so  squalid  as  one  we  for- 
merly saw ;  full,  speaking,  black  eyes  ;  it  seems 
as  if  dissolute  habits  had  overcome  all  his  finer 
feelings,  and  left  him  little  of  mind,  except  a  sense 
of  sorrow.  Dryden,  in  his  velvet  cap,  younger 
than  usual.  Addison,  mild.  Waller,  thinner  and 
older  than  usual,  with  scarce  a  spark  of  his  fire 
left,  but  still  a  courtier-like  gentleman. 

"  In  a  small,  domestic  parlour,  leading  into  the 
book-room,  is  that  fine  picture  of  Lord  Gowrie 
and  Vandyke,  by  the  latter ;  the  finest  .portrait  I 
ever  saw,  except  one  of  Rubens,  by  himself,  at 
Buckingham  House,  and  another  at  Warwick,  in 
the  cabinet  that  terminates  the  long  suite  of  state- 
rooms. 

"  In  a  blue  room,  a  domestic  drawing-room,  Lord 
Whitworth,  a  shrewd  and  comely  man  of  the 
world,  with  spirited  and  penetrating  grey  eyes ; 
an  expressive  but  somewhat  clouded  brow.     The 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  73 

Duchess,  in  a  black  velvet  riding  habit,  with  a  hat 
and  feather,  by  Opie ;  a  pleasing  picture  :  you  do 
not  think  of  her  in  this  portrait  as  of  the  Duchess, 
which  is  the  object  of  one  in  the  drawing-room, 
but  as  of  a  happy  wife  and  a  good-natured,  sen- 
sible woman ;  a  little  too  much  care  in  the  attitude. 

u  In  one  room  a  head  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth, 
all  flutter  and  fume. 

lC  The  rooms  are  so  numerous  and  the  suites 
of  them  so  long,  that,  though  I  have  seen  them 
twice,  I  could  not  now  find  my  way  through 
them,  and  cannot  even  recollect  them  all.  All  the 
principal  rooms  look  upon  the  garden,  with  its 
lawns  and  lofty  shades.  Scarcely  a  spot  of  brown 
earth  is  visible  :  so  many  various  tints  of  green ; 
the  trees  sometimes  bending  their  branches  down 
to  the  shrubs  and  flowers. 

u  In  the  Park,  abounding  with  noble  beech  groves, 
is  one,  on  the  left  of  the  road  leading  to  the  house, 
which,  for  mass  and  overtopping  pomp,  excels 
even  any  in  Windsor  Park,  when  viewed  as  you 
descend  from  the  Park  gate,  whence  shade  rises 
above  shade,  with  amazing  and  magnificent  gran- 
deur. In  this  mass  of  wood  is  one  beech,  that 
stretches  upwards  its  grey  limbs  among  the  light . 
feathery  foliage  to  a  height  and  with  a  majesty 
that  is  sublime.  Over  a  seat,  placed  round  the  bole, 
it  spreads  out  a  light  yet  umbrageous  fan,  most 
graceful  and  beautiful.  With  all  its  grandeur  and 
luxuriance,  there  is  nothing  in  this  beech  heavy  or 

VOL.    I.  E 


74  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

formal;  it  is  airy,  though  vast  and  majestic,  and 
suggests  an  idea  at  once  of  the  strength  and  fire  of 
a  hero!  I  should  call  a  beech-tree — and  this 
beech  above  every  other — the  hero  of  the  forest, 
as  the  oak  is  called  the  king." 

In  the  autumn  of  1811,  Mrs.  Radcliffe  went 
again  to  Portsmouth  and  the  Isle  of  Wight.  The 
following  extracts  bear  but  a  small  proportion  to 
her  entire  journal  of  this  little  tour. — "  Passed 
through  Bere  Forest,  on  the  right,  with  many  seats 
and  woods  and  spires,  around.  Almost  dusk.  An 
horizon  of  glowing  crimson  lay  behind  the  woods 
on  the  right,  where  the  sun  had  set.  Delightful  to 
catch  the  different  saffron,  crimson,  or  fiery  tints 
among  the  purple  streaks.  All  the  prospect  lay  in 
sullen  twilight  from  Portsdown  Hill,  and  it  was 
quite  dark  when  we  reached  Portsmouth.  Could 
just  discern  the  high  rampart  walks,  with  trees, 
before  we  rambled  under  the  deep,  fortified  gate- 
way of  Portsea.  Went  to  the  George  Inn,  a  very 
large  handsome  house,  with  many  galleries  and 
staircases.  Handsome  furniture  and  excellent  ac- 
commodation, except  that  you  could  get  nothing 
when  you  wanted  it.  We  had  fish  brought  with- 
out plates,  and  then  plates  without  bread.  All 
this  owing  to  a  vast  throng  of  company,  two  hun- 
dred vessels  or  more  being  detained  by  winds, 
besides  many  ships  of  war.  Nothing  but  ringing 
of  bells  and  running  about  of  waiters.  If  you  ask 
a  waiter  a  question,  he  begins  a  civil  answer,  but 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  75 

shuts  the  door  before  you  have  heard  it  all.     It 
was  very  diverting  to  hear  the  different  tones  and 
measure  of  the  ringings,  particularly  about  supper 
time,   and  the  next  day  about  five,  when   every 
body  happened  to  be  dining  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  to  hear  them  all  ringing  together,  or  in  quick 
succession,  in  different  keys  and  measure,  accord- 
ing to  the  worn  out,  or  better,  patience  of  the  ringer. 
These  different    keys    enabled   me  to  distinguish 
how  often    each  bell   was  rung  before  it  was  an- 
swered ;  also  the  increasing  impatience  of  the  ring- 
er, till,  at  the  third,  or  fourth  summons,  the  bell 
was  in  a  downright   passion.     There  was  a  mis- 
chievous amusement    in  this,    after  we  had  gone 
through  the  delay  ourselves,  and  had  gotten  what 
we  wanted.    Such  life  and  bustle  is  inspiriting,  for 
a  little  while.  Before  supper,  we  had  been  down  to 
the  platform,  over  the  sea.     All  was  indistinct  and 
vast;  the  comet  high,  but  no  moon;  calm.    Heard 
the  falling  of  the  tide — monotonous,  not  grand — 
cannon  all  around  and  sentinels;  some  old  seamen. 
"  Oct.  11. — Cloudy,  with  silver  gleams.    In  the 
afternoon,    sailed  in  the  packet  for  Ryde.     The 
wind  being  contrary,  though  moderate,  we  were 
two  hours  and  a  half  on  our  passage ;  had  a  de- 
lightful sail,  festooning  among  all  the  fleet  at  Spit- 
head.     A  passenger  asked  ■  What  brig  is  that  ?' 
as  we  passed  a  man-of-war.    A  midshipman,  who 
leaned  over  the  side,  made  no  answer.       '  What 
brig  is  that,  sir  P1 — '  The  Rover.'      Every  body 


76  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

admired  this  vessel.  Two  ships  of  100  guns,  one 
of  74,  and  many  of  other  degrees  of  force.  It 
was  a  grand  and  glorious  sight,  this  anchored  fleet, 
at  various  distances  on  the  gleaming  waves,  some 
in  shadow,  others  upon  long  lines  of  distant  light, 
of  coldest  silver.  Among  other  passengers  were 
two  Missionaries  going  to  Sierra  Leone  in  the 
brig  Minerva,  belonging  to  Mr.  Macaulay :  the 
eldest  Wilhelm,  a  German,  the  younger  a  Persian  ; 
modest,  sedate,  well-intentioned  men ;  had  some 
knowledge  of  Greek  ;  one  of  them  was  taking  his 
wife  with  him.  The  captain  of  their  ship,  on  board, 
seemed  to  be  a  good  sort  of  German.  Another 
captain  of  a  trading  ship  was  a  passenger,  Cap- 
tain Reynolds,  going  to  his  ship,  the  Crescent, 
bound  for  the  Mediterranean :  a  plain,  steady,  grave 
seaman,  of  the  old  stamp  ;  good  sense,  with  a  pious 
tender  heart.  Said  he  had  carried,  or  that  he  was 
then  about  to  carry,  several  hundred  copies  of 
the  New  Testament  in  the  modern  Greek,  to  be 
distributed  under  the  direction  of  agents    of  the 

British  and  Foreign  Bible  Society.    Captain , 

a  Cornish  man,  going  to  his  ship,  the  Commerce. 
These  two  captains  had  met  "  on  stronds  afar 
remote,'"  and  now,  by  accident,  on  board  this 
packet.  One  of  them  accosted  the  other  with  an 
apology  for  some  apparent  inattention  at  Malta, 
where  they  had  last  parted — his  ship  having  been 
(i  so  far  to  leeward."  They  talked  of  parts  of 
Smyrna,  Constantinople,  and  other  ports  beyond 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  77 

the  Straights,  as  familiarly  as  they  could  of  Lon- 
don or  Bristol.  Mr.  W  ,  a  London  merchant, 
having  a  seat  somewhere  in  the  west,  a  tall  thin 
man,  about  sixty,  with  a  florid  face  and  white 
hair ;  an  unassuming  well-bred  man.  The  cap- 
tain of  the  packet,  formerly  a  pilot,  had  a  keen, 
steady,  dark  eye,  with  a  brow  low-bent,  from  at- 
tention to  distant  objects,  and  a  countenance  quick 
and  firm,  that  seemed  to  say  he  was  master  of  his 
business,  and  proud  of  it. 

"  Landed  at  Ryde,  after  a  fine  sail,  through  a 
grand  and  interesting  scene. 

"Oct.  15. — After  a  foggy  night,  a  clear  and 
cloudless  day,  with  the  warmth  of  June.  At 
Steephill ;  saw  the  skirts  of  the  fog  clearing  up 
the  steeps  of  Boniface,  like  a  curtain,  and  the  sea 
below  brightening  from  misty  grey  into  it's  soft 
blue,  and  the  whole  horizon  gradually  clearing, 
till  all  was  cheerful  warmth  and  sunshine,  about  ten 
o'clock.  About  twelve,  we  set  off  to  walk  to  the 
Signal-house,  on  the  highest  steep  of  Boniface,  not 
visible  near  the  house,  nor  indeed  till  we  had 
gone  a  long  way,  being  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 
down.  Followed  the  steep  Newport  road,  for  a 
mile  or  two ;  looked  down  on  the  vast  sea-line, 
and  on  the  huge  promontories  and  broken  rocks  of 
the  Undercliffe.  Then,  leaving  the  road,  turned 
into  a  field  on  the  right,  with  heathy  steeps  and 
downs,  that  would  have  been  capped  with  clouds, 
had  there  been  any.     The  air  keen,  and  the  cli- 


78  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

mate  considerably  different  from  that  below.  The 
views  astonishing  and  grand  in  a  high  degree. 
From  these  ridges  we  looked  down,  on  one  side, 
over  the  whole  interior  of  the  island :  but  the 
sublime  view  was  that  to  the  south  ;  where,  as 
we  seemed  perched  on  an  extreme  point  of  the 
world,  we  looked  immediately  down  on  hills  and 
cliffs  of  various  height  and  form,  tumbled  in  con- 
fusion, as  if  by  an  earthquake,  and  stretching  into 
the  sea,  which  spreads  its  vast  circumference  be- 
yond, and  its  various  shades  of  blue.  This  soft 
blue,  thus  spreading  below  us,  was,  in  general, 
deeper  than  that  of  the  cloudless  sky  ;  and  the 
sky  itself  was  paler  at  the  horizon  than  high 
above,  appearing  there  like  the  dawn  of  light, 
and  deepening  as  the  arch  ascended.  This  might 
be  the  effect  of  vapour,  drawn  up  from  the  sea. 
Found  our  way  at  length  over  nearly  trackless 
furze  and  heath,  to  the  Signal-house,  which  looks 
down  on  the  steeps  of  Boniface,  and  the  rocks  of 
Bon  church,  and  over  to  the  sweep  of  Sandown 
Bay,  then  all  over  Brading  Harbour  and  the 
long  coast  of  Sussex,  which,  in  clear  weather, 
may  be  seen  as  far  as  Beachy  Head. 

"  In  returning,  we  endeavoured  to  follow  a  path 
down  the  steeps  near  Bonchurch,  and  to  find  some 
steps,  cut  in  the  precipice,  by  which  to  descend. 
The  look  down  upon  the  shores  and  sea  tremen- 
dous— steeps  below  steeps,  to  the  surge  beating  and 
whitening   below  all.     Followed,  for    some    time 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  79 

without  dizziness,  till  we  lost  our  little  track,  and 
saw  all  around  and  beneath  us  scarcely  any  thing 
but  pathless  descents — tremendous.  From  the  fear 
of  coming  to  some  impracticable  steep  in  this  wild 
descent  and  being  unable  to  find  the  hewn  steps, 
we  re-ascended  to  the  Signal-house,  and  so  re- 
turned home.  The  sea  a  desert,  except  that  a 
fine  frigate  sailed  majestically  at  a  distance,  and 
one  brio:  was  also  in  sip;ht. 

"  How  sweet  is  the  cadence  of  the  distant  surjre  ! 
It  seemed,  as  we  sat  in  our  inn,  as  if  a  faint  peal 
of  far-off  bells  mingled  with  the  sounds  on  shore, 
sometimes  heard,  sometimes  lost :  the  first  note  of 
the  beginning,  and  last  of  the  falling  peal,  seeming 
always  the  most  distinct.  This  resounding  of  the 
distant  surge  on  a  rocky  shore  might  have  given 
Shakspeare  his  idea  when  he  makes  Ferdinand,  in 
the  Tempest,  hear,  amidst  the  storm,  bells  ringing 
his  father's  dirge ;  a  music  whi  ch  Ariel  also  com- 
memorates, together  with  the  sea-wave  : — 

1  Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell, 
Ding,  dong,  bell!' 

"  This  chiming  of  the  surge  is  when  the  tide  is 
among  the  rocks,  and  the  wind,  blowing  from  the 
sea,  bears  and  softens  all  the  different  notes  of  the 
waves  to  a  distance,  in  one  harmonious  cadence ; 
as  in  a  concert,  your  distance  from  the  orchestra 
blends  the  different  instruments  into  a  richer  and 
softer  harmony." 


80  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

From  several  walks  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Steephill,  we  select  the  following: — 

"  Passed  Lord  Dysarfs  beautiful  cottage.  It 
stands  at  some  distance  from  the  shore,  and  has 
several  distinct  roofs,  well  thatched :  a  large  con- 
servatory stands  on  a  winding  lawn,  with  a  fine 
beech  grove  and  a  long  and  richly  coloured  copse, 
bending  along  down,  and  afterwards  along  the  feet 
of  cliffs  below.  The  crimson  berries  of  the  haw- 
thorn gave  exquisite  tints  to  this  coppice,  among 
the  brown  and  various  shades  of  the  autumnal 
woods,  and  appeared  in  abundance  every  where 
among  the  trees  and  wild  shrubs  of  the  whole 
Undercliffe.  The  little  church  of  St.  Lawrence, 
perhaps  the  smallest  in  England,  stands  on  a 
knoll,  and  terminates  the  cultivated  valley ;  im- 
mediately beyond  which,  we  entered  upon  a  scene 
of  extreme  wildness,  grandeur  and  solitude.  Many 
of  the  ruinous  precipices  of  the  upper  cliffs  pro- 
ject in  horizontal  strata,  yet  have  perpendicular 
rents.  Some  of  the  shattered  masses  give  most 
clear  echoes:  we  stood  before  one,  which  re- 
peated every  syllable  of  several  passages  from  the 
most  sonorous  languages,  with  an  exactness  of 
tone  that  was  truly  astonishing.  It  seemed  as  if 
a  living  spirit  was  in  the  rock,  so  near,  so  loud, 
and  so  exact !  '  Speak  to  it,  Horatio  V  I  could 
have  listened  to  it  for  hours.  How  solemn  is  the 
voice  of  cliffs  and  seas  !  How  great  the  style  of 
Nature  !  how  expressive  !  '  Speak  to  the  rock  V 
and    again  it  gave  every  word,  as  if  in  sport  or 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  81 

imitation,  but  with  truth  itself.  How  long  had  it 
slumbered  in  silence  ?  We  returned  by  the  course 
we  had  come,  the  yellow  sun  lighting  up  seas  and 
shores  with  the  warmth  of  May,  and  the  birds 
singing  every  where. 

"  Oct.  19.— Left  Steephill.  Sailed  from  Cowes 
in  the  Southampton  packet,  about  half-past  five ; 
the  Naiad  frigate  lying  before  the  town.  What 
particularly  struck  me  in  the  passage  was,  not  only 
the  sun  actually  appearing  to  set  in  the  sea,  but 
the  splendid  amber  light,  left  upon  that  long  level 
perspective  of  waters,  and  the  vessels  upon  it 
at  various  distances,  seeming  dark  on  this  side, 
and  marking  out  its  extent  to  the  eye.  The  grace 
and  majesty  of  an  anchored  ship,  too,  lying  with 
her  stern  to  the  eye,  though  at  less  distance,  is  in- 
describable; showing  all  her  shrouds  and  yards 
lessening,  like  a  pyramid,  as  they  rise  upon  the 
light.  How  tranquil  and  grand  the  scene  lay, 
beneath  the  gradually  deepening  shade  !  Still  the 
dark  shores  and  stately  vessels  kept  their  dignity 
upon  the  fading  waters.  How  impressive  the 
silence,  and  then  how  according  the  solemn  strain, 
that  died  upon  the  waves  from  unseen  and  distant 
bugles,  like  a  song  of  peace  to  the  departing  day  ! 
Another  of  those  measured  portions  that  make  up 
our  span  of  life,  was  gone ;  every  one  who  gazed 
upon  this  scene,  proud  or  humble,  was  a  step 
nearer  to  the  grave — yet  none  seemed  conscious  of 
it.  The  scene  itself,  great,  benevolent,  sublime— 
powerful,  yet  silent  in  its  power — progressive  and. 
e  5 


OZ  LIFE    AMD    WRITINGS 

certain  in  its  end,  steadfast  and  full  of  a  sublime 
repose  :   the  scene  itself  spoke  of  its  Creator." 

In  this  year  Mrs.  Radcliffe  visited  Penshurst. 
Prom  some  very  extensive  notes  upon  this  an- 
cient seat  of  the  Sydneys,  we  extract  the  follow- 
ing :— 

"  As  we  drew  near,  the  woods  began  to  thin ; 
and  an  old  latticed  wooden  gate  showed  one  en- 
trance into  a  park,  now  in  ruins,  for  the  grass  is 
tall,  scanty,  and  intermingled  with  taller  fern.  No 
deer  appeared  on  the  rusty  lawns,  or  under  the 
scattered  trees,  or  decaying  groves,  of  this  once 
rich  domain.  Penshurst  lies  in  a  small  valley  of 
its  own,  that  hangs  upon  the  ridge  of  hills  which 
form  the  southern  boundary  of  the  grand  valley 
overlooked  from  Riverhill.  All  its  heights  are  hung 
with  its  own  woods,  which  shut  out  every  distant 
prospect  from  the  house,  except  from  the  turrets ; 
and  even  from  these,  at  least  from  the  one  I  climb- 
ed, the  view  is  not  extensive  ;  but  it  is  a  pleasing 
scene,  with  here  and  there  an  intermingled  spire 
and  ancient  mansion.  After  following  for  a  con- 
siderable  time  the  paling  of  this  extensive  park, 
an  elderly  woman  admitted  us  to  it  through  the 
chief  gate,  and  the  ancient  mansion  immediately 
appeared  over  a  rough  lawn,  surrounded  with 
groves.  The  house  is  much  in  the  style  of  Knole, 
but  more  irregular,  and  not  of  half  the  size.  It  is 
of  brick  and  rough  stone,  with  now  a  tower,  and 
now  a  turret ;  high  lozenge  chimneys,  an  embattled 


OF    MRS.  RADCLIFFE.  85 

wall,  and,  above  all,  the  long  peaked  roof  of  the 
great  hall.  In  the  court,  over  the  arched  portal, 
is  a  row  of  five  shields  of  the  family  arms,  in 
stone.  The  great  hall  is  on  the  opposite  side:  it 
is  grand,  but  gloomy,  showing  the  dark  rafters  of 
the  roof;  the  tall,  pointed  windows  below  shed 
but  a  subdued  light  on  the  pavement,  which  is  of 
brick.  The  rafters  have  been  blackened  by  the 
fires  of  two  centuries,  lighted  on  the  centre  of  the 
pavement,  where  the  bricks,  raised  half  a  foot, 
form  a  small  octagon,  on  which,  perhaps,  Sir 
Philip  Sydney  and  the  knights  his  companions 
have  often  stood  round  the  blazing  fagots,  piled 
upon  the  same  iron  dogs,  of  enormous  size,  that 
still  remain  there.  I  think  I  see,  in  glimpses,  the 
strong  blaze  of  the  wood  flashing  on  their  visages. 
The  armour  of  Sir  Philip  himself,  with  helm  (the 
vizor  closed),  stands  at  the  back  of  an  obscure 
gallery,  and  close  beneath  a  high  window,  whose 
small  frames  admit  a  blunted,  melancholy  light. 
It  stands  like  a  spectre  in  arms,  watching  over  the 
scene  it  once  inhabited;  and  is  admirably  placed  to 
touch  the  imagination,  but  not  to  gratify  curiosity, 
its  distance  being  considerable.  A  partial  light, 
thrown  more  strongly  on  the  head,  would  give  it 
very  fine  effect.  It  is  best  seen  from  one  of  the 
doors,  that  open  from  the  raised  step  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  hall,  where  the  high  table  stood. 

"  The  hall  being  so  lofty  as  to  seem  shorter  than 
tt  should  be,   and  than  it  really  is,  one  of  the  late 


84  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS 

owners,  to  remedy  this  defect,  had  a  painted  per- 
spective placed  at  one  end — a  most  unsuitable  ex- 
pedient in  so  great  and  simple  a  scene ;  but  the 
drawings  of  knights  in  armour,  larger  than  life, 
between  the  windows,  are  well  done.  Several  very 
rudely  carved  wooden  images,  now  whitened  and 
probably  brought  from  some  other  part  of  the 
house,  are  placed  in  front  of  the  gallery,  as  if  look- 
ing over  the  railing. 

"  Mrs.  Perry,  the  grandmother  of  the  present 
Mr.  Sydney,  who  changed  his  name  from  Shelley, 
was  a  niece  of  Sydney,  Earl  of  Leicester,  and  co- 
heiress with  her  sister,  Lady  Howard,  of  the 
Penshurst  estates.  The  old  housekeeper,  who  at- 
tended us,  lamented  much  that  Mr.  Sydney  did 
not  now  live  here,  but  hoped  to  see  him  return. 
She  had  been  all  her  life  on  the  spot,  and  told  us 
what  fine  times  she  remembered  when  Lady  Perry 
used  to  drive  to  the  gate  in  a  coach  and  six,  and 
come  down  with  such  4  a  sight  of  servants."*  All 
the  tenants  used  to  come  to  meet  her,  and  (  we 
girls'  (the  speaker  was  a  grandmother)  used  to  stand 
all  in  a  row  to  meet  her.  Such  noble  liveries  !  and 
then  the  poor  woman  shook  her  head,  and  bustled 
about,  with  emotion.  The  bells  were  a  ringing  all 
day,  and  there  were  such  goings  on.  c  Was  she 
Lady  Perry  p1  £  Yes.  sir,'  rather  sharply,  as  if  asto- 
nished that  we  could  doubt  it.  s  Was  she  a  Lady 
by  birth  P1  s  Yes,  sir,1  more  sharply,  6  she  Was 
a  Lady  indeed.'     She  led  us  down  a  modernized 


OF    MRS.    BADCLIFFE.  85 

winding  staircase  into  a  small  hall  in  the  chief  part 
of  the  mansion,  opening  into  the  garden.  We 
passed  a  fine  Gothic  window,  that  gives  light  to 
it,  having  painted  shields  of  arms ;  among  them 
Queen  Elizabeth's.  From  the  great  dining-par- 
lour,  a  staircase  leads  past  many  rooms  lined  with 
oak  panels,  worm-eaten ;  among  them  the  nur- 
sery, which  the  housekeeper  pointed  out,  with  a 
strong  regret  of  old  times — not  those  of  Sir  Philip 
Sydney,  but  of  Lady  Perry.  And  there  were  the 
children's  playthings  ;  there  they  were  all — with 
some  sighs.  As  I  humoured  her,  she  began,  in 
the  midst  of  her  regrets,  to  apologize  for  her 
dress,  and  to  lament  that  she  had  not  had  time  to 
appear  better.  (  Do  the  stairs  near  the  nursery 
lead  to  the  top  of  the  turret  ?' — 'I  don't  know, 
ma'am,  but  I'll  see.'  I  followed  to  the  small 
platform,  and  looked  over  the  battlements  upon 
the  wood  and  the  valley.  The  view  was  pleasing, 
but  not  impressive,  or  extensive. 

"  She  led  us  through  the  great  hall,  to  see  the 
kitchen  ;  one  suitable  to  such  a  hall,  with  a  lofty, 
raftered  roof,  enormous  chimney,  and  long  old 
tables  of  oak,  not  nearly  so  thick  as  those  in  the 
hall  at  Coventry.  Here  the  good  woman  was  at 
the  climax  of  her  regrets,  and  she  shook  her  head 
and  sighed  often.  '  It  is  a  dismal  place  now,  and 
what  do  I  remember  it  in  Lady  Perry's  time  !  I 
remember,  when  all  them  hooks,'  pointing  to  rows 
of  them  that  run,  at  a  great  height,  over  the  wide 


86  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

and  lofty  chimney  piece  and  round  the  roof, 
e  were  hung  with  sides  of  bacon  ;  ay,  I  ha'  seen 
them  all  hung  with  bacon.  And  here  was  such  a 
sight  of  servants  running  about,  some  one  way, 
some  another.'  She  then  reverted  to  Lady  P/s 
coach  and  six,  and  the  rejoicings  that  were  to  take 
place  when  she  came  down,  and  *  we  girls  used  to 
stand  all  in  a  row.'  In  short,  one  would  have 
thought  that  nobody  had  ever  lived  in  this  man- 
sion but  Lady  Perry.  As  to  Sir  Philip  and  the 
rest  of  the  Sydney*  they  were  never  thought  of 
when  she  spoke  of  old  times — a  neglect  which  at 
first  somewhat  embarrassed  me,  who  thought  of 
them  and  old  times  as  inseparable.  She  took  us 
into  a  smaller  kitchen,  to  show  us  the  stoves  and 
the  iron  plates,  on  which,  in  her  old  times,  tea- 
cakes  and  crumpets  were  baked,  and  related,  with 
pride,  that  she  used  to  assist  in  turning  them." 

In  October  1812,  Mrs.  RadclifFe  visited  Mal- 
vern. The  following  is  her  note  of  her  walk  to 
the  summit  of  the  hills: — 

"  Oct.  21,  1812.— Having  slept  at  the  Foley 
Arms  hotel,  an  excellent  inn,  delightfully  situated, 
we  walked  out,  about  eleven,  hoping  to  reach  the 
highest  point  of  the  Malvern  Hills.  By  the  zig- 
zag turf-path,  we  reached  the  little  Well-house, 
where  we  came  upon  the  wild  turf,  and  began  to 
ascend  the  higher  steeps  of  a  mountain.  The 
hoary  crags,  in  vast  masses,  looked  out  from  among 
the  brown  and  red  tints  of  the  autumnal  fern,  and 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFF.  87 

from  the  green  earth,  but  the  crags  ceased  below 
the  summits,  which  were  smooth  and  still  green. 
Our  view  here  commanded  the  vast  expanse  to  the 
eastward,  which  we  had  seen  from  the  inn  ;  but 
we  now  saw  over  the  broad  Breedon  hill,  whicli 
there  bounded  the  horizon  in  one  direction ;  and 
many  lines  were  now  visible  beyond  it.  This  view 
is  great  and  comprehensive,  but  not  sublime ;  the 
elevation  reducing  the  importance  of  other  heights, 
so  that  no  single  object  remains  sufficiently  strik- 
ing, either  in  form  or  character,  to  arrest  attention, 
and  break  the  uniform  harmony  of  that  rich  and 
woody  scene,  the  vale  of  the  Severn,  whose  waters 
were  visible  only  here  and  there,  in  little  glimmer- 
ing threads  of  light.  At  the  summit,  we  could 
just  discern  them  near  Bristol,  rolling  in  greater 
breadth.  From  the  Well-house,  we  soon  reached 
a  good  winding  path,  cut  in  the  turf,  which  led  us 
round  one  mountain,  overlooking  other  craggy  or 
green  steeps  of  Malvern,  till  we  caught  a  first 
glimpse  of  Herefordshire  and  of  the  hills  of  South 
Wales,  over  the  ridge,  to  the  west.  They  were 
more  distant,  and  less  broken  and  individual,  than 
I  had  hoped,  but  grand  notwithstanding.  Hav- 
ing, at  length,  turned  into  a  sort  of  intrenchment, 
which  runs  up  to  the  summit,  and  divides  Wor- 
cestershire and  Herefordshire,  we  walked  in  this 
securely,  and  with  some  little  shelter  from  the 
winds,  till  we  reached  the  highest  point  of  Mal- 
vern, and  beheld   a  vast  horizon  circling  at  our 


88  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

feet.  Thirteen  counties  are  said  to  be  visible  from 
this  summit,  which  overlooks  the  other  heights  of 
Malvern.  It  is  indeed  a  defect  in  the  scene,  that 
there  are  no  other  supereminent  heights,  except 
those  which  are  too  distant  to  have  a  fully  impress- 
ive effect.  Even  Breedon-hill,  that  broad  feature 
in  the  vale  of  the  Severn,  was  here  too  much  low- 
ered.. Towns  and  villages  were  often  distinguish- 
able chiefly  by  the  wreaths  of  smoke  that  spread 
from  them  along  the  vale,  but  sometimes  by  the 
broad  tower  of  a  church.  On  a  more  intent  view, 
white  mansions  and  woody  parks  would  frequently 
appear ;  and  rich  meadows,  hedge-rows  and  groves 
filled  the  vale,  ascended  to  the  hills  of  other  coun- 
ties, and  often  spread  over  their  summits  too.  Few 
of  the  mountains  of  South  Wales  were  sharp,  or 
very  bold,  at  this  distance.  On  this  side  of  them, 
the  square  mass  of  the  tower  of  Hereford  Cathe- 
dral was  perceivable ;  and,  far  more  southward, 
the  high,  level  downs  of  Clifton.  Bristol  itself  is 
sometimes  seen  hence.  The  broad  Gloucester 
hills — the  Cotswolds — and  the  city  of  Gloucester, 
with  its  noble  cathedral,  are  in  the  nearer  vale. 
From  this  spot,  we  could  distinguish,  merely  by 
turning  round,  three  great  cities,  with  their  cathe- 
drals— Gloucester,  Worcester,  and  Hereford,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  fine  abbey-church  of  Tewks- 
bury.  The  tower  of  Malvern  church,  once  a 
priory-church,  is  also  a  venerable  feature  in  the 
scene.     One   of  the  most   striking   circumstances 


OF    MRS.    EADCLIFFE.  89 

was  the  vast  sweep  of  shadows  and  lights  thrown 
from  the  clouds  over  this  great  prospect.  The 
mottled  expanse  of  moving  lights  over  the  surface 
of  the  wide  vale  sometimes  resembled  the  billows 
of  a  sea,  on  which  you  look  down  from  some  lofty 
cliff.  The  lights  brought  out  the  villages  and 
mansions  on  the  knolls  of  Herefordshire  surpris- 
ingly ;   and  many  are  most  charmingly  seated.* 

Mrs.  Radcliffe  was  particularly  interested  by 
Kenil worth  Castle,  and  spent  much  time  in  explor- 
ing its  history  after  she  had  visited  its  ruins.  The 
subject  struck  her  imagination ;  and  in  the  winter 
of  1802,  she  wrote  the  tale  of  Gaston  de  Blonde- 
ville,  now  for  the  first  time  given  to  the  world. 
After  this,  she  undertook  no  work  of  magnitude, 
but  occasionaly  employed  her  leisure  in  composing 
poems,  from  which  a  selection  has  been  made  for 
these  volumes.  In  Romance,  she  probably  felt 
that  she  had  done  enough  ;  and,  feeling  it  impossi- 
ble to  surpass  her  M  Mysteries  of  Udolpho"  and  her 
"  Italian,"  declined  again  to  subject  herself  to  criti- 
cism by  publication.  Though  gratified  by  a  sense  of 
the  enjoyment  she  had  provided  for  multitudes,  and 
justly  proud  of  the  honest  and  blameless  means  by 
which  it  was  produced,  she  rarely  alluded  to  her 
novels.  At  first,  the  sums  she  received,  though 
not  necessary,  were  welcome ;  but,  as  her  pecuniary 
resources  became  more  ample,  she  was  without 
sufficient    excitement   to   begin  on   an    extended 


90  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

romance,  though,  had  the  first  effort  been  made,  the 
pursuit  must  have  been  delightful.  Even  Gaston 
de  Blondeville  was  not  intended  for  the  press,  and, 
having  amused  herself  and  her  husband,  was  laid 
aside,  so  disinclined  had  she  become  to  publication. 

It  is  curious  that  several  years  after  this  tale 
was  written,  Mrs.  RadclifFe,  having  forgotten  many 
of  the  incidents,  perused  it  with  nearly  the  same  in- 
terest as  if  it  had  been  the  production  of  a  stranger. 
It  was  again  laid  aside  ;  and  in  the  latter  part  of  life 
she  repeated  the  experiment,  but  it  did  not  absorb 
her  attention  as  before,  the  former  perusal  having 
stamped  the  contents  on  her  memory. 

Secluded  as  Mrs.  Radcliffe  was  from  the  world, 
she  was  tremblingly  alive  to  every  circumstance 
which  could,  by  the  remotest  possibility,  raise  an 
inference  injurious  to  the  personal  character  she 
valued  far  above  literary  fame  ;  and,  as  nothing 
could  induce  her  to  appear  before  the  public  in 
any  sort  of  contention,  every  thing  of  this  nature 
preyed  long  upon  her  mind .  She  was  much  affect- 
ed by  a  passage  of  Miss  Seward's  correspondence, 
which  seemed,  to  her  apprehensive  feelings,  to  con- 
vey an  imputation  that  she  had  allowed  the  dramas 
afterwards  avowed  by  Miss  Baillie  to  be  attribut- 
ed to  her  pen.  Miss  Seward  in  one  of  her  letters 
dated  May  21,  1799,  after  mentioning  the  plays, 
gave  the  following  quotation  from  a  letter  of  "her 
literary  friend  and  correspondent  Mrs.  Jackson" — 
"  Before  their  author  was  known,  I   observed  so 


OF    MRS.    KADCLIFFE.  91 

much  of  the  power  and  defects  of  Mrs  RadeliftVs 
compositions  in  these  dramas,  as  to  believe  them 
her's,  and  I  hear  she  owns  them.  Mrs.  Radcliffe, 
in  whatever  she  writes,  attentive  solely  to  the  end, 
is  not  sufficiently  attentive  to  observe  probability 
in  the  means  she  uses  to  attain  it.  She  bends  her 
plan — or,  if  it  will  not  bend,  she  breaks  it,  to  her 
catastrophe,  by  making  it  grow  out  of  the  preced- 
ing events.  Still  she  always  takes  hold  of  the 
reader's  feeling-,  and  effects  her  purpose  boldly 
if  not  regularly.  Her  descriptive  talent,  used  to 
satiety  in  her  novels,  is  here  employed  with 
more  temperance,  and  consequently  to  better 
purpose.  " 

The  imputation  thus  conveyed  was,  perhaps, 
implicitly  removed  by  two  letters  of  a  few  months 
later  date  ;  in  one  of  which  Miss  Seward,  speaking 
of  the  Plays  on  the  Passions,  says,  "  My  literary 
friends  now  assert  that  they  are  not  Mrs.  Rad- 
clinVs ;"  and  in  the  other,  "  The  literary  world 
now  asserts,  that  the  Plays  on  the  Passions  are 
not  Mrs.  Radcliffe's ;"  for,  if  Mrs.  Radcliffe  had 
really  owned  them,  it  is  scarcely  probable  the  li- 
terary world  could  so  soon  have  discredited  her 
acknowledgment,  while  the  real  author  remained 
unknown.  This  implied  vindication  from  a  charge, 
which  perhaps  no  one  ever  regarded,  was  not 
sufficient  for  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  delicate  sense  of  pro- 
priety and  honour.  She  made  inquiries  after  Mrs. 
Jackson,    the    ladv   mentioned   as  Miss  Seward's 


92  LIFE    AND   WRITINGS 

informant,  in  order  that  she  might  trace  out  the 
origin  of  her  rumour.  Having  learned  that  Mrs. 
Jackson,  after  residing  at  Bath,  had  removed  to 
Edinburgh,  she  requested  Mr.  Davies,  of  the  firm 
of  Cadell  and  Davies,  who  had  ample  opportunities 
of  procuring  information  respecting  the  literary 
society  of  Edinburgh,  to  ascertain  if  Mrs.  Jack- 
son was  still  in  that  city.  In  the  result  of  these 
inquiries  it  appeared,  that  the  lady,  to  whom  the 
report  was  ascribed,  had  left  Edinburgh ;  that  her 
residence  was  unknown;  and  that  she  was  not 
even  supposed  to  be  living.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, Mrs.  Radcliffe  was  obliged  to  leave  her 
vindication  (as,  in  truth,  she  safely  might)  to  the 
tenor  of  her  whole  literary  course ;  for  no  one 
ever  felt,  or  expressed,  more  repugnance  to  facti- 
tious praise,  or  more  strenuously  declined  to  avail 
herself  of  the  warmth  of  private  regard  in  softening 
the  rigour  of  criticism.  The  prayer  of  the  poet, 
<c  O  grant  an  honest  fame,  or  grant  me  nonei"  was 
the  language  of  all  her  actions.  She  even  took 
pains  to  prevent  some,  who,  she  knew,  were  desirous 
of  expressing  their  sense  of  her  genius,  from  writ- 
ing eulogies  on  her  works,  as  she  could  not  endure 
the  conscious  degradation  of  being  exalted  even 
by  the  genial  quackery  of  friendship.  It  is  scarcely 
necessary  now  to  assert,  that  the  supposition  of  her 
having  laid  claim  to  the  authorship  of  the  Plays  on 
the  Passions,  or  voluntarily  endured  the  ascrip- 
tion of  those  powerful  compositions  to  her  pen, 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  93 

was  utterly  groundless.  Rich  as  these  works  are 
in  passion,  and  richer  in  fancy,  they  could  not 
tempt  the  author  of  the  Mysteries  of  Udolpho, 
even  if  she  had  not  been  restrained  by  any  higher 
feeling  than  pride,  to  claim  them — not  because 
they  would  have  been  unworthy  of  her,  if  she  had 
written  them,  but  because  the  secret  sense  of  merited 
reputation  must  alone  have  created  a  distaste  for 
eulogies  which  she  did  not  deserve.  Anxious  as 
Mrs.  Radcliffe  was  to  repel  the  suggestion,  she 
felt  that,  as  she  could  not  discover  its  author,  it 
would  not  become  her  to  intrude  on  Miss  Baillie 
a  denial  of  the  report,  which  she  had  not  sanc- 
tioned ;  and  the  same  susceptible  delicacy,  which 
made  her  feel  it  so  deeply,  compelled  her  to  bear 
it  in  silence.  The  subject,  which  was  always  pain- 
ful to  her,  is  rather  now  alluded  to  as  an  instance 
of  the  singular  apprehensiveness  of  her  moral 
sense,  than  as  at  all  required  for  the  vindication  of 
her  character. 

Another  circumstance,  of  a  more  trivial  nature, 
gave  her  uneasiness,  though  in  a  less  degree.  In 
one  of  the  published  letters  of  the  late  Mrs.  Carter, 
was  a  passage  of  a  eulogistic  nature,  alluding  to 
her  works ;  and  to  this  a  note  was  appended  by 
the  editor,  showing  that  "  Mrs.  Carter  had  no 
personal  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Radcliffe."  This 
statement  was  literally  true ;  but  to  her  sensitive 
nature  it  seemed  to  bear  the  construction,  that  the 
excellent  lady  referred  to  would  have  avoided  her 


94  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

acquaintance.  The  fact,  indeed,  was  exactly  the 
reverse;  for,  in  the  spring  of  1799,  Mrs.  Carter 
sent  to  Mrs.  Radcliffe  a  letter  of  introduction  frorr> 
a  lady  of  high  respectability  at  Bath,  and  proposed 
by  note  to  wait  on  her  on  the  following  day  ;  but 
Mrs.  Radcliffe,  being  engaged  to  leave  town  in 
the  morning  with  her  husband,  whose  health  re- 
quired country  air,  was  obliged  respectfully  to  de- 
cline the  intended  honour.  The  correspondence 
appeared  in  the  Annual  Biography  for  1834,  with 
a  short  Memoir  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe ;  and  produced 
from  Dr.  Pennington,  the  writer  of  the  note,  a 
most  handsome  letter,  in  which  he  earnestly 
disclaimed  even  the  slightest  idea  of  disrespect 
to  Mrs.  Radcliffe,  stating  that  he  was  not  aware 
of  the  little  correspondence,  or  he  would  have 
mentioned  it  with  pleasure.  Dr.  Pennington 
also  avows,  not  merely  with  candour,  but  cordi- 
ally, the  admiration  and  personal  respect,  with 
which  Mrs.  Carter  thought  and  spoke  of  Mrs. 
Radcliffe. 

With  more  i*eason,  Mrs.  Radcliffe  was  amazed 
at  an  absurd  report,  that,  haunted  by  the  images  of 
fear,  with  which  she  had  thrilled  her  readers,  she 
had  sunk  into  a  state  of  mental  alienation.  A 
more  unphilosophical  foundation  for  an  untruth 
was  never  imagined;  for  it  is  obvious,  that  through 
all  her  works  she  holds  entire  mastery  over  the 
terrors  which  she  employs,  and  even  sedulously 
prepares  the  means  of  explaining  them  by  natural 
causes.     It  seems,  however,  that  the  authoress  of 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  95 

a  Tour  through  England,  in  noticing  the  Duke  of 
Rutland's  venerable  and  romantic  seat,  called  Had- 
don  House,  asserted  that  it  was  there  that  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  acquired  her  taste  for  castles  and  ancient 
buildings,  and  proceeded  to  lament  that  she  had, 
for  many  years,  fallen  into  a  state  of  insanity, 
ami  was  under  confinement  in  Derbyshire  : — the 
fact  being,  not  only  that  the  main  assertion  was 
false,  but  that  all  its  accompaniments  were  desti- 
tute of  foundation ; — for  Mrs.  Radcliffe  was  only 
in  Derbyshire  on  two  occasions,  for  a  few  days 
each,  after  her  marriage,  and  never  saw  Haddon 
House  at  all.  This  report,  the  falsehood  of 
which  might  have  been  ascertained  by  the  author- 
ess, on  a  reference  to  her  own  publisher,  was 
copied  in  a  larger  work  of  more  recent  date ; 
and  to  complete  the  fiction,  a  plate  and  description 
of  Haddon  House,  as  the  scene  of  Mrs.  RadclifFe's 
early  impressions,  were  annexed  by  way  of  illustra- 
tion. It  also  supplied  materials  for  poetry ;  as  in 
an  "  Ode  to  Terror,"  with  other  effusions,  pub- 
lished by  a  clergyman  in  1810,  Mrs.  Radcliffe  is 
bemoaned,  as  having  died  in  that  species  of  mental 
derangement  called  "  the  horrors."  Some  of 
these  rumours  reached  her  ;  but  she  could  not  en- 
dure the  thought  of  writing  in  the  newspapers 
that  she  was  not  insane  ;  and,  at  last,  learned  to 
smile  at  the  pity  of  those,  who  thought  her  in  con- 
finement, and  the  charity  of  others,  who  had  kindly 
permitted  her  to  find  a  release  in  death  from  her 
supposed  intellectual  sufferings. 


96  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

While  the  fate  of  the  authoress  of  Udolpho 
was  thus  considered  by  the  world  as  sealed,  she 
was  enjoying  her  wonted  recreations  and  studies, 
with  entire  relish.  As,  however,  curiosity  was  sa- 
tiated with  exploring  all  the  finest  country  within 
100  miles  of  London,  and  she  became  more  at- 
tached to  the  comforts  of  home,  she  contracted 
the  sphere  of  her  excursions.  Instead  of  making 
journeys  of  length,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Radcliffe  hired 
a  carriage  for  the  summer  months,  in  which  they 
were  accustomed  to  make  frequent  trips  to  beau- 
tiful spots  in  the  neighbourhood  of  London,  where 
they  dined  and  spent  the  day  at  some  good  inn,  and 
returned  in  the  evening.  Esher,  Stanmore,  Rich- 
mond, Southgate,  and  Harrow,  were  their  favourite 
places  of  resort,  especially  the  latter,  where  they 
chose  the  room,  not  the  largest,  but  which  com- 
mands the  richest  prospect,  and  where  Crawley 
Wood,  near  Ashridge,  could  be  often  distinctly 
seen.  Mrs.  Radcliffe  also  was  much  attached  to  St. 
Alban's,  the  antiquities  of  which  she  explored  with 
unwearied  zeal,  and  the  historical  dignity  of  which 
she  has  vindicated  in  her  longest  poem.  From  1812 
to  1815  inclusive,  she  passed  much  time  at  Windsor 
and  its  neighbourhood,  and  formed  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  all  the  recesses  of  its  forest. 

u  She  knew  each  lane,  and  every  alley  green, 
Dingle  or  bushy  dell  of  those  old  woods, 
And  every  bosky  bower  from  side  to  side." 

She  often  vividly  described  the  beautiful  spots 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  97 

of  this  regal  domain.  There  was  scarcely  a  tree  of 
importance,  with  the  peculiar  form  of  which  she  was 
not  familiar,  and  the  varieties  of  whose  aspect  in 
light  and  shade  she  could  not  picture  in  words.  With 
reference  to  their  age  and  to  the  analogy  she  fan- 
cied to  the  lines  of  monarch s,  with  which  they  might 
be  coeval,  she  described  the  trees  separately  as  Plan- 
tagenet  oaks,  Tudor  beeches,  or  Stuart  elms.  At 
this  time,  she  expressed  her  feelings  in  verse,  rather 
than  in  prose,  and  the  reader  will  find  them  chro- 
nicled in  several  of  her  poems.  One  night-scene 
on  the  terrace,  however,  deserves  to  be  inserted  ; 
and  may  be  compared  with  the  descriptions  of 
castellated  heights,  which  abound  in  her  novels. 

"  We  stood  in  the  shade  on  the  north  terrace, 
where  a  platform  projects  over  the  precipice,  and 
beheld  a  picture  perfect  in  its  kind.  The  massy 
tower  at  the  end  of  the  east  terrace  stood  up 
high  in  shade ;  but  immediately  from  behind  it 
the  moonlight  spread,  and  showed  the  flat  line  of 
wall  at  thg  end  of  that  terrace,  with  the  figure  of 
a  sentinel  moving  against  the  light,  as  well  as  a 
profile  of  the  dark  precipice  below.  Beyond  it, 
was  the  park  and  a  vast  distance,  in  the  faint  light, 
which  spread  over  the  turf,  touched  the  avenues, 
and  gave  fine  contrast  to  the  deep  shades  of  the 
wooded  precipice,  on  which  we  stood,  and  to  the 
whole  line  of  buildings,  which  rise  on  the  north 
terrace.  Above  this  high  dark  line  the  stars  ap- 
peared with  a  very  sublime  effect.     No  sound  but 

vol.  i.  / 


98  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

the  faint  clinking  of  the  soldier's  accoutrements, 
as  he  paced  on  watch,  and  the  remote  voices  of 
people  turning  the  end  of  the  east  terrace,  appear- 
ing for  a  moment  in  the  light  there  and  vanishing. 
In  a  high  window  of  the  tower  a  light.  Why  is 
it  so  sublime  to  stand  at  the  foot  of  a  dark  tower, 
and  look  up  its  height  to  the  sky  and  the  stars? 

u  What  particularly  strikes  at  Windsor  is  the 
length  of  terrace  in  the  east,  thus  seen  by  moon- 
light; the  massy  towers,  four  in  perspective;  the 
lights  and  shades  of  the  park  below,  the  obscure 
distance  beyond  them,  the  low  and  wide  horizon, 
which  you  seem  to  look  upon,  the  grandeur  of  the 
heavenly  arch,  which  appears  to  spring  from  it,  and 
the  multitude  of  stars,  which  are  visible  in  so  vast 
and  uninterrupted  a  view.  Then  the  north  terrace 
stretching  and  finally  turning  away  from  them 
towards  the  west,  where  high  dark  towers  crown 
it.  It  was  on  this  terrace,  surely,  that  Shakspeare 
•  received  the  first  hint  of  the  time  for  the  appear- 
ance of  his  ghost. — 

'  Last  night  of  all, 
When  yon  same  star  that  westward  from  the  Pole 
Had  made  his  course  to  illume  that  part  of  heaven 
Where  now  it  burns,  Marcellus  and  myself, 
The  bell  then  beating  one 

From  inclination,  Mrs.  Radcliffe  was  minutely- 
attentive  to  her  household  affairs,  probably  think- 
ing with  Schiller,  that,  after  all,  one  of  the  best 
enjoyments  of  life  arises  from  the  exact  perform- 


OF    MHS.    RADCL1FFE.  99 

ancc  of  some  mechanical  duty.  Although  by  no 
means  disposed  to  parsimony,  she  kept  an  exact 
account  of  daily  disbursements,  until  a  very  short 
time  before  her  death.  Much  of  her  leisure  was 
spent  in  reading  the  literary  productions  of  the 
day,  especially  poetry  and  novels.  Of  the  latter 
works  she  always  spoke  with  an  entire  freedom 
from  jealousy,  and  devoured  the  earlier  Scotch 
novels  with  all  the  avidity  of  youth,  although  she 
felt  deeply  a  slighting  expression  in  ■'  Wavedey," 
towards  herself,  which  the  author  might  have 
spared.  Sir  Walter  Scott  has,  however,  made 
ample  amends  to  her  reputation  by  his  elaborate 
criticism  prefixed  to  Ballantine's  edition  of  her  ro- 
mances. To  music  she  was  passionately  attached, 
and  sang  herself  with  exquisite  taste,  though  her 
voice,  remarkably  sweet,  was  limited  in  compass. 
At  the  Opera  she  was  a  frequent  visitor,  and  on  her 
return  heme  would  sit  up  singing  over  the  airs  she 
had  heard,  which  her  quickness  of  ear  enabled  her 
to  catch,  till  a  late  hour.  She  was  peculiarly  af- 
fected by  sacred  music,  and  occasionally  went  to 
the  oratorios,  when  they  afforded  her  the  opportu- 
nity of  listening  to  the  compositions  of  Handel. 
She  sometimes,  though  more  rarely,  accompanied 
Mr.  Radcliffe  to  the  theatres;  and  was  a  warm 
admirer  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  whom  she  recollected  at 
Bath,  when  herself  was  young.  She  used  to  speak 
with  much  pleasure  of  having  seen  this  great  ac- 
tress, before   the  commencement  of  her  splendid 


100  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

career  in  London,   going  to  Church  with  her  little 
son  Henry,  and  was  struck  by  her  exceeding  dig- 
nity and  grace.     When    she  visited   the    theatre, 
Mrs.   Radcliffe   generally   sat   in    the   pit,   partly 
because  her  health  required  warm  clothing,   and 
partly  because,  in  that   situation,   she  felt   more 
withdrawn  from  the  observation  she  disliked.    She 
was  fond  of  listening  to  any  good  verbal  sounds, 
and  would  often  desire  to  hear  passages  from  the 
Latin  and  Greek  classics,  requiring  at  intervals  the 
most  literal  translations,  that  could  be  given,  how- 
ever much  the  version  might  lose  in  elegance  by 
the  exactness. 

During  the  last  twelve  years  of  her  life,  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  suffered  at  intervals  from  a  spasmodic 
asthma,  which  occasioned  a  general  loss  of  health, 
and  called  for  the  unwearied  attentions  of  her  af- 
fectionate husband.  In  the  hope  of  obtaining 
relief,  she  visited  Ramsgate  in  the  autumn  of 
1822,  and,  deriving  benefit  from  the  air,  recurred 
to  her  old  habit  of  noting  down  her  impressions 
of  scenery.  The  following  is  the  last  she  ever 
wrote. 

"  Ramsgate,  Saturday  morning,  Oct.  19,  1822. 
— Stormy  day,  rain  without  sun,  except  that  early 
a  narrow  line  of  palest  silver  fell  on  the  horizon, 
showing,  here  and  there,  distant  vessels  on  their 
course.  Ships  riding  in  the  Downs,  exactly  on  the 
sea-line,  over  the  entrance  into  the  harbour,  oppo- 
site to  our  windows,  were  but  dim  and  almost  shape- 


OF    MRS.    BADCLIJrFE.  101 

less  hints  of  what  they  were.  Many  vessels,  with  sails 
-et,  making  for  the  port ;  pilot-boats  rowed  out  of 
the  harbour  to  meet  them;  the  tide  rolling  in, 
leaving  the  foaming  waves  at  its  entrance,  where 
vessels  of  all  kinds,  from  ships  to  fishing-boats, 
appeared  in  succession,  at  short  intervals,  dashing 
down  among  the  foam,  and  rushing  into  the  har- 
bour. The  little  black  boats  around  them  often 
sunk  10  low  in  the  surge,  as  to  be  invisible  for  a 
moment.  This  expansive  harbour,  encircled  by 
the  noble  piers,  might  be  considered  as  a  grand 
theatre,  of  which  the  entrance  and  the  sea  beyond 
were  the  stage,  the  two  pier-heads  the  portals,  the 
plain  of  the  harbour  the  pit,  and  the  houses  at 
the  end  of  it  the  front  boxes.  This  harbour  was 
not  now,  as  some  hours  since,  flooded  with  a  silver 
light,  but  grey  and  dull,  in  quiet  contrast  with 
the  foaming  waves  at  its  entrance.  The  horizon 
thickened,  and  the  scene  around  seemed  to  close 
in ;  but  the  vessels,  as  they  approached,  though 
darker,  became  more  visible  and  distinct,  the  sails 
half-set,  some  nearly  whole  set.  They  all  kept 
away  a  little  to  the  westward  of  the  west  pier,  the 
wind  south-west,  then  changed  their  course,  and 
dashed  round  the  light-house  pier-head,  tossing 
the  foam  high  about  them,  some  pitching  head 
foremost,  as  if  going  to  the  bottom,  and  then 
rolling  helplessly,  and  reeling  in,  settled  in  still 
waters.     A  lofty  tide." 

Although  the  health  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe  was  im- 


102  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

proved  by  this  excursion,  she  was  much  affected 
by  the  severe  cold  in  the  beginning  of  the  ensuing 
winter.  On  the  ninth  of  January,  1823,  another 
attack  of  her  disease  commenced,  which  ultimately 
proved  fatal.  At  first  it  appeared  less  serious  than 
some  of  her  previous  seizures  ;  but  it  soon  became 
alarming.  On  the  eleventh  of  January,  Dr.  Scu- 
damore,  to  whose  care  she  had  formerly  been  in- 
debted, was  called  in,  and  did  every  thing  for 
her  that  skill  and  tenderness  could  suggest ;  but  in 
vain.  A  few  days  before  her  death,  an  account, 
which  she  had  accidentally  read,  of  a  shocking  mur- 
der recently  perpetrated,  pressed  on  her  memory, 
and  joined  with  the  natural  operation  of  the  dis- 
ease to  produce  a  temporary  delirium.  From  this, 
however,  she  completely  recovered,  and  remained 
sensible  to  the  last.  On  the  sixth  of  February,  she 
did  not  appear  to  be  in  any  immediate  danger, 
though  in  a  state  of  great  weakness.  At  twelve  at 
night,  Mr.  Radcliffe  assisted  in  giving  her  some  re- 
freshment, which  she  took  with  apparent  satisfac- 
tion, her  last  words  being,  "  There  is  some  sub- 
stance in  that."  She  then  fell  into  a  slumber;  but, 
when  Mr.  Radcliffe,  who  had  been  sitting  up  in  the 
next  room,  re-entered  her  apartment,  in  the  course 
of  an  hour  or  two,  she  was  breathing  rather  hardly, 
and  neither  he  nor  the  nurse  was  able  to  awake 
her.  Dr.  Scudamore  was  instantly  sent  for  ;  but, 
before  his  arrival,  she  tranquilly  expired,  at  be- 
tween two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the 


OF    MRS.   RADCLIFFE.  103 

seventh  of  February,  1823,  being  in  the  59th  year 
of  her  age.  Her  countenance  after  death  was  de- 
lightfully placid,  and  continued  so  for  some  days. 
Her  remains  were  interred  in  a  vault  in  the 
Chapel  of  Ease,  at  Bayswater,  belonging  to  St. 
George's,  Hanover  Square. 

As,  since  Mrs.  RadclinVs  death,  the  story  of 
her  mental  alienation  has  been  revived,  in  reference 
to  her  later  days,  it  has  been  deemed  right  to 
apply  to  Dr.  Scudamore  for  an  authentic  state- 
ment, which  he  has  kindly  given,  and  which  must 
set  such  idle  reports  entirely  at  rest.  It  is  as 
follows  : 

"  Mrs.  Radeliffe  had  been  for  several  years  sub- 
ject to  severe  catarrhal  coughs,  and  also  was  occa- 
sionally afflicted  with  asthma. 

"  In  March  1822,  she  was  ill  with  inflamma- 
tion of  the  lungs,  and  for  a  considerable  time 
remained  much  indisposed.  With  the  summer 
season  and  change  of  air,  she  regained  a  tolerable 
state  of  health. 

"  In  the  early  part  of  January  1823,  in  conse- 
quence of  exposure  to  cold,  she  was  again  attacked 
with  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  much  more 
severely  than  before.  Active  treatment  was  im- 
mediately adopted,  but  without  the  desired  relief; 
and  the  symptoms  soon  assumed  a  most  dangerous 
character.  At  the  end  of  three  weeks,  however, 
and  contrary  to  all  expectation,  the  inflammation 
of  the  lungs  was  overcome ;   and  the  amendment 


104  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

was  so  decided,  as  to  present  a  slight  prospect  of 
recovery. 

"  Alas  !  our  hopes  were  soon  disappointed.  Sud- 
denly, in  the  very  moment  of  seeming  calm  from 
the  previous  violence  of  disease,  a  new  inflamma- 
tion seized  the  membranes  of  the  brain.  The 
enfeebled  frame  could  not  resist  this  fresh  assault : 
so  rapid  in  their  course  were  the  violent  symptoms, 
that  medical  treatment  proved  wholly  unavailing. 

"  In  the  space  of  three  days,  death  closed  the 
melancholy  scene. 

"  In  this  manner,  at  the  age  of  fifty-nine,  so- 
ciety was  deprived  of  a  most  amiable  and  valua- 
ble member,  and  literature  of  one  of  its  brightest 
ornaments. 

"  The  foregoing  statement  will,  I  hope,  afford 
all  the  explanation,  which  can  be  required,  of 
the  nature  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  illness.  During  the 
whole  continuance  of  the  inflammation  of  the  lungs, 
the  mind  was  perfect  in  its  reasoning  powers,  and 
became  disturbed  only  on  the  last  two  or  three 
days,  as  a  natural  consequence  of  the  inflamma- 
tion affecting  the  membranes  of  the  brain. 

"  Previously  to  the  last  illness,  and  at  all  times, 
Mrs.  Radcliffe  enjoyed  a  remarkably  cheerful  state 
of  mind  ;  and  no  one  was  farther  removed  from 
"  mental  desolation,"  as  has  been  so  improperly 
described  of  the  latter  part  of  her  life. 

"  She  possessed  a  quick  sensibility,  as  the  neces- 
sary ally  of  her  fine  genius ;  but  this  quality  would 


OF    MRS.   RADCLIFFE.  105 

serve  to  increase  the  warmth  of  the  social  feel- 
ings, and  effectually  prevent  the  insulation  of  the 
mind,  either  as  regards  the  temper  or  the  under- 
standing." 

T\Irs.  Radcliffe  was,  in  her  youth,  exquisitely 
proportioned,  though  she  resembled  her  father, 
and  his  brother  and  sister,  in  being  low  of  stature. 
Her  complexion  was  beautiful,  as  was  her  whole 
countenance,  especially  her  eyes,  eyebrows,  and 
mouth.  She  was  educated  in  the  principles  of  the 
Church  of  England  ;  and  through  life,  unless  pre- 
vented by  serious  indisposition,  regularly  attended 
its  services.  Her  piety,  though  cheerful,  was  deep 
and  sincere.  Although  perfectly  well  bred,  and  en- 
dowed with  faculties  and  tastes  which  rendered  her 
a  delightful  companion,  she  wanted  that  confidence 
which  is  necessary  to  mixed  society,  and  which 
she  could  scarcely  acquire,  without  losing  some- 
thing of  the  delicacy  of  feeling,  which  marked  her 
character.  If,  in  her  retirement,  she  was  some- 
times affected  by  circumstances  which  would  have 
passed  unheeded  amidst  the  bustle  of  the  world, 
she  was  more  than  repaid  by  the  enjoyments, 
which  were  fostered  in  the  shade  ;  and  perhaps 
few  distinguished  authors  have  passed  a  life  so 
blameless  and  so  happy. 

Mrs.  Hadciiffe  may  fairly  be  considered  as  the 
inventor  of  a  new  style  of  romance;  equally  dis- 
tinct from  the  old  tales  of  chivalry  and  magic,  and 
from  modern  representations  of  credible  incidents 


106  LIFE    AND    WRTTiXi- 

and  living  manners.  Her  works  partially  exhibit 
the  charms  of  each  species  of  composition  ;  inter- 
weaving the  miraculous  with  the  probable,  in  con- 
sistent narrative,  and  breathing  of  tenderness  and 
beauty  peculiarly  her  own.  The  poetical  marvels 
of  the  first  fill  the  imagination,  but  take  no  hold 
on  the  sympathies,  to  which  they  have  become 
alien :  the  vicissitudes  of  the  last  awaken  our  cu- 
riosity, without  transporting  us  beyond  the  sphere 
of  ordinary  life.  But  it  was  reserved  for  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  to  infuse  the  wondrous  in  the  credible  ; 
to  animate  rich  description  with  stirring  adven- 
ture ;  and  to  impart  a  portion  of  human  interest 
to  the  progress  of  romantic  fiction.  She  occupied 
that  middle  region  between  the  mighty  dreams  of 
the  heroic  ages  and  the  realities  of  our  own,  which 
remained  to  be  possessed ;  filled  it  with  goodly 
imagery  ;  and  made  it  resonant  with  awful  voices. 
Her  works,  in  order  to  produce  their  greatest  im- 
pression, should  be  read  first,  not  in  childhood,  for 
which  they  are  too  substantial ;  nor  at  mature  age, 
for  which  they  may  seem  too  visionary  ;  but  at 
that  delightful  period  of  youth,  when  the  soft  twi- 
light of  the  imagination  harmonizes  with  the  lux- 
urious and  uncertain  light  cast  on  their  wonders. 
By  those,  who  come  at  such  an  age  to  their  pe- 
rusal, they  will  never  be  forgotten. 

The  principal  means,  which  Mrs.  RadcllfFe  em- 
ployed to  raise  up  her  enchantments  on  the  bor- 
ders of  truth,  are,  first,  her  faculty  of  awakening 


OF    MHS.  RADCL1FFE.  107 

emotions  allied  to  superstitious  fear ;  and,  secondly, 
her  skill  in  selecting  and  describing  scenes  and 
figures  precisely  adapted  to  the  feelings  she  sought 
to  enkindle.  We  will  examine  each  of  these 
powers,  and  then  shortly  advert  to  their  develope- 
ment  in  her  successive  romances. 

I.  The  art,  by  which  supernatural  agency 
is  insinuated,  derives  its  potency  from  its  singular 
application  to  human  nature,  in  its  extreme?  of 
weakness  and  strength.  Simply  considered,  fear 
is  the  basest  of  emotions,  and  the  least  adapted 
to  the  dignity  of  romance ;  yet  it  is  that,  of  which 
the  most  heroic  heart  sometimes  whispers  a  confes- 
sion. On  the  other  hand,  every  thing,  which  tends 
to  elevate  and  ennoble  our  feelings,  to  give  the 
character  of  permanency  to  our  impressions, 
and  impart  a  tongue  to  the  silence  of  nature, 
has  reference  to  things  unseen.  The  tremblings 
of  the  spirit,  which  are  base  when  prompted  by 
any  thing  earthly,  become  sublime  when  inspired 
by  a  sense  of  the  visionary  and  immortal.  They 
are  the  secret  witnesses  of  our  alliance  with  power, 
which  is  not  of  this  world.  We  feel  both  our 
fleshly  infirmity  and  our  high  destiny,  as  we  shrink 
on  the  borders  of  spiritual  existence.  Whilst  we 
listen  for  echoes  from  beyond  the  grave,  and  search 
with  tremulous  eagerness  for  indications  of  the  un- 
earthly, our  Curiosity  and  Fear  assume  the  gran- 
deur of  passions.  We  might  well  doubt  our  own  im- 
mortality, if  we  felt  no  restless  desire  to  forestal  the 


108  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

knowledge  of  its  great  secret,  and  held  no  obsti- 
nate questionings  with  the  sepulchre.  We  were  not 
of  heavenly  origin,  if  we  did  not  struggle  after  a 
communion  with  the  invisible;  nor  of  human  flesh, 
if  we  did  not  shudder  at  our  own  daring ; — and  it 
is  in  the  union  of  this  just  audacity  and  venial 
terror,  that  we  are  strangely  awed  and  affected. 
It  is,  therefore,  needless  to  justify  the  use  of  the 
supernatural  in  fiction  ;  for  it  is  peculiarly  adapted 
to  the  workings  of  the  imagination — that  power, 
whose  high  province  is  to  mediate  between  the 
world  without  us  and  the  world  within  us  ;  on  the 
one  hand  to  impart  sentiment  and  passion  to  the 
external  universe,  and  make  it  redolent  of  noble  as- 
sociations ;  and,  on  the  other,  to  clothe  the  affec- 
tions of  the  heart  and  the  high  suggestions  of  the 
reason  with  colour  and  shape,  and  present  them 
to  the  mind  in  living  and  substantial  forms. 

There  are  various  modes,  in  which  the  super- 
natural may  be  employed,  requiring  more  or  less 
of  a  dextrous  sympathy,  in  proportion  to  the  depth 
and  seriousness  of  the  feeling,  which  the  author 
proposes  to  awaken.  In  cases  where  the  appeal  is 
only  made  to  the  fancy,  it  is  sufficient  if  the  pic- 
tures are  consistent  with  themselves,  without  any 
reference  to  the  prejudices,  or  passions,  of  those,  be- 
fore whom  they  are  presented.  To  this  class  the  fables 
of  the  Greek  mythology  belong,  notwithstanding 
their  infinite  varieties  of  grandeur  and  beauty.  They 
are  too  bright  and  palpable  to  produce  emotions  of 


01     MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  ]  09 

awe,   even  among  those,  who  professed  to  believe 
them ;  and  rather  tended  to  inclose  the  sphere  of 
mortal  vision,  which  they  adorned  and  gladdened, 
with   more  definite   boundaries,  than  to  intimate 
the  obscure  and  eternal.    Instead  of  wearing,  then, 
the   solemn  aspect  of  antiquity,  they  seem,  even 
now,  touched  with  the  bloom  of  an  imperishable 
youth.     The  gorgeous  Oriental  fictions  and  mo- 
dern tales  of  fairy  lore  are  also  merely  fantastical, 
and  advance  no  claim  on  faith,  or  feeling.     Their 
authors  escape   from   the  laws  of  matter,  without 
deriving  any  power  from  the  functions  of  spirit; 
they  are  rather  without  than  above  nature,  and  seek 
only  an  excuse  in  the  name  of  the  supernatural  for 
their  graceful  vagaries.  Akin  essentially  to  these  are 
mere  tales  of  terror,  in  which  horrors  are  accumu- 
lated on  horrors.     Beyond  the  precincts  of  the  nur- 
sery, they  are  nothing  but  a  succession  of  scenic  re- 
presentations— a  finely   coloured   phantasmagoria, 
which  may  strike  the  fancy,  but  do  not  chill  the 
blood,  and  soon  weary  the  spectator.    It  is  only  the 
"  eye  of  childhood"  which  "  fears  a  painted  devil.1' 
In  some  of  the  wild  German  tales,  indeed,  there  is, 
occasionally,  a  forcible  exaggeration  of  truth,  which 
strikes  for  a  moment,  and  seems  to  give  back  the 
memory  of  a  forgotten  dream.     But  none  of  these 
works,  whatever  poetical  merit  the}-  may  possess, 
have  the  power  to  fascinate  and  appal,  by  touch- 
ing   those    secret  strings   of  mortal  apprehension, 
which,  connect  our  earthly  with  our  spiritual  being. 


110  LIFE    AMD    WRITINGS 

In  these  later  days,  it,  no  doubt,  requires  a  fine 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart  to  employ  the  su- 
pernatural, so  as  to  move  the  pulses  of  terror.     Of 
all  superstitions,  the  most  touching  are  those,  which 
relate  to  the  appearance  of  the  dead  among   the 
living ;   not  only  on  account  of  the  reality  which 
they  derive  from  mingling  with  the  ordinary  busi- 
ness of  life,  but  of  the  cold  and  shuddering  sym- 
pathy we  feel  for  a  being  like  to  whom  we  may 
ourselves  become  in  a  few  short  years.     To  bring 
such  a  vision  palpably  on  the  scene  is  always  a 
bold  experiment,  and  usually  requires  a  long  note 
of  preparations  and  a  train  of  circumstances,  which 
may  gradually  and  insensibly  dispose  the  mind  to 
implicit  credence.     Yet  to  dispense  with  all  such 
appliances,  and  to   call  forth  the  grandest  spirit, 
that    ever   glided   from    the  tomb,    was    not   be- 
yond Shakspeare's  skill.     A  few  short   sentences 
only  prepare  the  way  for  the  ghost  of  the  muiv 
dered  King  of  Denmark  ;  the  spirit  enters,  and  we 
feel  at  once  he  is  no  creature  of  time  ;  he  speaks, 
and  his  language  is   "  of  Tartarus,  and  the  souls 
in  bale."     Such  mighty  magic  as  this,  however,  be- 
longed only  to  the  first  of  poets.     Writers  who,  in 
modern  times,  have  succeeded  in  infusing  into  the 
mind  thoughts  of  unearthly  fear,  have  usually  taken 
one  of  these  two  courses :   either  they  have  associ- 
ated   their  superstitions   with   the   solemnities   of 
nature,  and  contrived  to  interweave  them  in  the 
very  texture  of  life,  without  making  themselves  re- 


OF    MRS.  RADCLIFFE.  Ill 

sponsible  for  the  feelings  they  excite:  or  they  have, 
by  mysterious  hints  and  skilful  contrivances,  exci- 
ted the  curiosity  and  terror  of  their  readers,  till 
they  have  prepared  them  either  to  believe  in  any 
wonder  they  may  produce,  or  to  image  for  them- 
selves in  the  obscurity  fearful  shapes,  and  to  feel 
the  presence  of  invisible  horrors. 

Those,  who  seek  to  create  a  species  of  superna- 
tural interest  by  the  first  of  these  processes,  find 
abundant  materials  adapted  to  their  use  in  the 
noblest  parts  of  our  own  intellectual  history. 
There  are  doubtful  phenomena  within  the  expe- 
rience of  all  reflecting  minds,  which  may  scarcely 
be  referred  to  their  mere  mortal  nature,  and  which 
sometimes  force  on  the  coldest  sceptic  a  convic- 
tion, that  he  is  "  fearfully1''  as  well  as  "  wonder- 
fully made."  Golden  dreams  hover  over  our 
cradle,  and  shadows  thicken  round  the  natural 
descent  of  the  aged  into  the  grave.  Few  there 
are,  who,  in  childhood,  have  not  experienced  some 
strange  visi tings  of  serious  thought,  gently  agita- 
ting the  soul  like  the  wind  "  that  bloweth  where 
it  listeth,"  suggesting  to  it  holy  fancies,  and 
awakening  its  first  sympathy  with  a  world  of  sor- 
row and  of  tears.  Who  has  not  felt,  or  believed 
that  he  has  felt,  a  sure  presentiment  of  approach- 
ing evil  ?  Who,  at  some  trivial  occurrence, 
;;  striking  the  electric  chord  by  which  we  are 
darkly  bound,'"  has  not  been  startled  by  the  sudden 
revival  of  old  images  and  feelings,  long  buried  in 


112  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

the  depth  of  years,  which  stalk  before  him  like 
the  spectres  of  departed  companions  ?  Who  has 
not  shrunk  from  the  fascination  of  guilty  thoughts, 
as  from  "  supernatural  soliciting  ?"  Where  is  the 
man  so  basely  moulded,  that  he  does  not  remem- 
ber moments  of  inspiration,  when  statelier  images 
than  his  common  intellect  can  embody,  hopes  and 
assurances  brighter  than  his  constitutional  tem- 
perament, may  recal,  and  higher  faculties  within 
himself  than  he  has  ever  been  able  to  use,  have 
stood  revealed  to  him  like  mountain-tops  at  the 
utmost  reach  of  vision,  touched  by  a  gleam  of  the 
morning  sun  ?  And  who,  in  the  melancholy  calm 
of  the  mind,  sadly  looking  into  its  depths,  has  not 
perceived  the  gigantic  wrecks  of  a  nobler  nature,  as 
the  fortunate  voyager  on  some  crystal  lake  has  dis- 
cerned, or  fancied  he  discerned,  the  wave-worn 
towers  of  a  forgotten  city  far  in  the  deep  waters  ? 
There  are  magic  threads  in  the  web  of  life,  which  a 
writer  of  romance  has  only  to  bring  out  and  to  touch 
with  appropriate  hues  of  fancy.  From  the  secret 
places  of  the  soul  are  \  oices  more  solemn  than  from 
old  superstitions,  to  which  lie  may  bid  us  hearken. 
In  his  works,  prophecies  may  be  fulfilled  ;  presenti- 
ments justified;  the  history  of  manhood  may  an- 
swer to  the  dreams  of  the  nursery ;  and  he  may 
leave  his  readers  to  assert  if  they  can,  "  These 
have  their  causes  ;  they  are  natural.1'  Let  him 
only  give  due  effect  to  the  problem,  and  he  may 
safely  trust  their  hearts  to  supply  the  answer  ! 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  113 

The  other  mode  of  exciting  terror  requires,  per- 
haps, greater  delicacy  and  skill,  as  the  author 
purposes  to  influence  the  mind  directly  from  with- 
out, instead  of  leaving  it,  after  receiving  a  certain 
clue,  to  its  own  workings.  In  this  style,  up  to 
the  point  where  Mrs.  Radcliffe  chooses  t,>  nause 
and  explain,  she  has  no  rival.  She  knows  the 
string  of  feeling  she  must  touch,  and  exactly  pro- 
portions her  means  to  her  design.  She  invariably 
succeeds  not  by  the  quantity  but  the  quality  of 
her  terrors.  Instead  of  exhibiting  a  succession  of 
magnificent"  glooms,  which  only  darken  the  ima- 
gination, she  whispers  some  mysterious  suggestion 
to  the  soul,  and  exhibits  only  just  enough  of  her 
picture  to  prolong  the  throbbings  she  has  excited. 
In  nothing  is  her  supremacy  so  clearly  shown,  as  in 
the  wise  and  daring  economy,  with  which  she  has 
employed  the  instruments  of  fear.  A  low  groan 
issuing  from  distant  vaults ;  a  voice  heard  among 
an  assembly  from  an  unknown  speaker;  a  little 
track  of  blood  seen  by  the  uncertain  light  of  a 
lamp  on  a  castle  staircase;  a  wild  strain  of  music 
floating  over  moonlight  woods;  as  introduced  by 
her,  affect  the  mind  more  deeply  than  terrible  in- 
cantations, or  accumulated  butcheries.  "  Pluck 
out  the  heart  of  her  mystery  P — tell,  at  once,  the 
secret,  the  lightest  hint  of  which  appals — verify 
the  worst  apprehensions  of  the  reader ;  and  what 
would  be  the  reality  in  common  hands  ?  You  can 
suspect  nothing  more  than  a  cruel  murder  perpe- 


114  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

trated  many  years  ago  by  an  unprincipled  monk, 
or  an  avowed  robber !  Why  should  we  suffer  all 
the  stings  of  curiosity  on  such  an  issue?  Human 
life  is  not  held  so  precious,  murder  is  not  so 
strange  and  rare  an  occurrence,  that  we  should 
be  greatly  agitated  by  the  question  whether,  two 
centuries  ago,  a  bandit  destroyed  one  of  his  cap- 
tives ;  but  the  skill  of  the  writer,  applying  itself 
justly  to  the  pulses  of  terror  in  our  intellectual 
being,  gives  tragic  interest  to  the  inquiry, 
makes  the  rusted  dagger  terrible,  and  the  spot  of 
blood  sublime.  This  faculty  is  the  more  remark- 
able, as  it  is  employed  to  raise  a  single  crime  into 
importance;  while  others  of  equal  dye  are  casually 
alluded  to,  and  dismissed,  as  deeds  of  little  note, 
and  make  no  impression  on  the  reader.  Assassins 
who  murder  for  hire,  commonly  excite  no  feeling 
in  romance,  except  as  mere  instruments,  like  the 
weapons  they  use  ;  but,  when  Mrs.  Radcliffe  chooses 
to  single  out  one  of  these  from  the  mass,  though 
undistinguished  by  peculiar  characteristics,  she  ri- 
vets our  attention  to  Spalatro,  as  by  an  irresistible 
spell ;  forces  us  to  watch  every  movement  of  his 
haggard  countenance,  and  makes  the  low  sound  of 
his  stealthy  footsteps  sink  into  the  soul.  Her  fa- 
culty, therefore,  which  has  been  represented  as 
melo-dramatic,  is  akin  to  the  very  essence  of  tragic 
power,  which  is  felt  not  merely  in  the  greatness  of 
the  actions,  or  sorrows,  which  it  exhibits,  but  in  its 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  115 

nice  application  to  the  inmost  sources  of  terror  and 
of  pity. 

It  is  extraordinary,  that  a  writer  thus  gifted 
should,  in  all  her  works  intended  for  publication, 
studiously  resolve  the  circumstances,  by  which 
she  has  excited  superstitious  apprehensions,  into 
mere  physical  causes.  She  seems  to  have  acted  on 
a  notion,  that  some  established  canon  of  romance 
obliged  her  to  reject  real  supernatural  agency; 
for  it  is  impossible  to  believe  she  would  have 
adopted  this  harassing  expedient  if  she  had  felt  at 
liberty  to  obey  the  promptings  of  her  own  genius. 
So  absolute  was  her  respect  for  every  species  of 
authority,  that  it  is  probable  she  would  rather  have 
sacrificed  all  her  productions,  than  have  trans- 
gressed any  arbitrary  law  of  taste,  or  criticism.  It 
is  equally  obvious,  that  there  is  no  valid  ground  of 
objection  to  the  use  of  the  supernatural,  in  works 
of  fiction,  and  that  it  is  absolutely  essential  to  the 
perfection  of  that  kind  of  romance,  which  she  in- 
vented. To  the  imagination  it  is  not  only  pos- 
sible, but  congenial,  when  introduced  with  art, 
and  employed  for  high  and  solemn  purposes. 
Grant  only  the  possibility  of  its  truth,  which  "  the 
fair  and  innocent"  are  half  disposed  to  believe, 
and  there  is  nothing  extravagant  in  the  whole 
machinery,  by  which  it  works.  But  discard  it  al- 
together, and  introduce,  in  its  stead,  a  variety  of 
startling  phenomena,   which  are  resolved  at  last 


118  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

into  petty   deceptions  and  gross   improbabilities, 
and  you  at  once  disappoint  the  fancy,  and  shock 
the  understanding   of   the   reader.     In  the   first 
case,  the  reason  is  not  offended,  because  it  is  not 
consulted ;  in  the  last,  it  is  expressly  appealed  to 
with  the  certainty  of  an    unfavourable    decision. 
Besides  it  is  clear  that  all  the  feelings  created  up 
to  the   moment  of  explanation,  and  which  it  has 
been  the  very  object  of  the  author  to  awaken,  have 
obeyed  the  influence  of  these  very  principles,  which 
at  last  she  chooses  to  disown.     If  the  minds   to 
whom  the  work  is  addressed  were  so  constituted  as 
to  reject   the  idea   of  supernatural   agency,   they 
would  be  entirely  unmoved  by  the  circumstances 
arranged  to  produce  the  impression  of  its  exist- 
ence ;  and    "  The  Mysteries   of  Udolpho"  would 
have  fallen  still-born  from  the  press !    Why  then 
should  the  author  turn  traitor  to  her  own  u  so 
potent  art  ?"    Why,  having  wrought  on  the  fears 
of  her  readers  till  she  sways  them  at  her  will,  must 
she  turn  round  and  tell  them  they  have  been  awed 
and  excited  by  a  succession  of  mockeries  ?     Such 
impotent  conclusions  injure  the  romances  as  works 
of  art,  and  jar  on  the  nerves  of  the  reader,  which 
are  tuned  for  grand  wonders,  not  paltry  discoveries. 
This  very  error,  however,  which  injures  the  effect 
of  Mrs.  ltadclhTe's  works,  especially  on  a  second 
perusal,  sets  off,  in  the  strongest  light,  the  wizard 
power  of  her  genius.     Even  when  she  has  dis- 
solved mystery  after  mystery,   and  abjured  spell 


OF    MRS.     RADCLIFFE.  117 

after  spell,  the  impression  survives,  and  the  reader 
is  still  eager  to  attend  again,  and  be  again  deluded. 
After  the  voices  heard  in  the  chambers  of  Udolpho 
have  been  shown  to  be  the  wanton  trick  of  a 
prisoner,  we  still  revert  to  the  remaining  prodigies 
with  anxious  curiosity,  and  are  prepared  to  give 
implicit  credence  to  new  wonders  at  Chateau  le 
Blanc.  In  the  romance  of  Gaston  de  Blondeville, 
Mrs.  RadclifFe,  not  intending  to  publish,  gratified 
herself  by  the  introduction  of  a  true  spectre  ;  and, 
without  anticipating  the  opinion  of  the  public  on 
that  work,  we  may  venture  to  express  a  belief,  that 
the  manner,  in  which  the  supernatural  agency  is 
conducted,  will  deepen  the  general  regret,  that  she 
did  not  employ  it  in  her  longer  and  more  elaborate 
productions. 

II.  Mrs.  RadclimVs  faculties  of  describing  and 
picturing  scenes  and  appropriate  figures  was  of 
the  highest  order.  Her  accurate  observation  of 
inanimate  nature,  prompted  by  an  intense  love  of 
all  its  varieties,  supplied  the  materials  for  those 
richly  coloured  representations,  which  her  genius 
presented.  Without  this  perception  of  the  true, 
the  liveliest  fancy  will  only  produce  a  chaos  of 
beautiful  images,  like  the  remembered  fragments 
of  a  gorgeous  dream.  How  singularly  capable 
Mrs.  Radcliffe  was  of  painting  the  external  world, 
in  its  naked  grandeur,  her  published  tour  among 
the  English  Lakes,  and,  perhaps  still  more,  the 
notes  made  on  her  journeys  for  her  own  amuse- 


118  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

ment,  abundantly  prove.  In  the  first,  the  bold- 
ness and  simplicity  of  her  strokes,  conveying  the 
clear  images  to  the  eye  of  the  mind,  with  scarcely 
any  incrustation  of  sentiment,  or  perplexing  dazzle 
of  fancy,  distinguish  her  from  almost  all  other 
descriptive  tourists.  Still  the  great  charm  of  sim- 
plicity was  hardly  so  complete,  as  in  her  unstudied 
notices  of  scenery ;  because  in  writing  for  the  press, 
it  is  scarcely  possible  to  avoid  altogether  the  tempta- 
tion of  high  sounding  and  ambiguous  expressions, 
which  always  impede  the  distant  presentiment  of 
material  forms.  To  this  difficulty,  she  thus  adverts 
in  her  account  of  Ulswater.  "  It  is  difficult  to 
spread  varied  pictures  of  such  scenes  before  the 
imagination.  A  repetition  of  the  same  images  of 
rock,  wood,  and  water,  and  the  same  epithets  of 
grand,  vast,  and  sublime,  which  necessarily  occur, 
must  appear  tautologous,  though  their  archetypes 
in  nature,  ever  varying  in  outline  or  arrangement, 
exhibit  new  visions  to  the  eye,  and  produce  new 
shades  of  effect  on  the  mind."  In  the  journals, 
as  no  idea  of  authorship  interposed  to  give  restraint 
to  her  style,  there  is  entire  fidelity  and  truth.  She 
seems  the  very  chronicler  and  secretary  of  nature  ; 
makes  us  feel  the  freshness  of  the  air ;  and  listen 
to  the  gentlest  sounds.  Not  only  does  she  keep 
each  scene  distinct  from  all  others,  however  similar 
in  general  character ;  but  discriminates  its  shifting 
aspects  with  the  most  delicate  exactness.  No 
aerial  tint  of  a  fleecy  cloud  is  too  evanescent  to  be 


OF    MRS.  RADCLIFFE.  119 

imaged  in  her  transparent  style.  Perhaps  no 
writer  in  prose,  or  verse,  has  been  so  happy  in  de- 
scribing the  varied  effects  of  light  in  winged  words. 
It  is  true,  that  there  is  not  equal  discrimination  in 
the  views  of  natural  scenery,  which  she  presents  in 
her  romances.  In  them  she  writes  of  places,  which 
she  has  not  visited  ;  and,  like  a  true  lover,  invests 
absent  nature  with  imaginary  loveliness.  She  looks 
at  the  grandeurs  and  beauties  of  creation  through 
a  soft  and  tender  medium,  in  which  its  graces  are 
heightened,  but  some  of  its  delicate  varieties  are 
lost.  Still  it  is  nature  that  we  see,  though  touched 
with  the  hues  of  romance,  and  which  could  only  be 
thus  presented  by  one  who  had  known,  and  studied 
its  simple  charms. 

In  the  estimate  of  Mrs.  RadcliffrVs  pictorial 
powers,  we  must  include  her  persons  as  well  as  her 
scenes.  It  must  be  admitted  that,  with  scarcely 
an  exception,  they  are  figures  rather  than  charac- 
ters. No  writer  ever  produced  so  powerful  an 
effect,  without  the  aid  of  sympathy.  Her  machi- 
nery acts  directly  on  her  readers,  and  makes  them 
tremble  and  weep,  not  for  others,  but  for  them- 
selves. Adeline,  Emily,  Vivaldi,  and  Ellena,  are 
nothing  to  us,  except  as  filling  up  the  scene  ;  but 
it  is  we  ourselves,  wTho  discover  the  manuscript  in 
the  deserted  abbey  ;  we,  who  are  prisoners  in  the 
castle  of  Udolpho ;  we,  who  are  inmates  of  Spa- 
latro's  cottage;  we,  who  stand  before  the  secret 
tribunal  of  the   Inquisition,  and   even   there  are 


120  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

startled  by  the  mysterious  voice  deepening  its  hor- 
rors. The  whole  is  prodigious  painting,  so  entire 
as  to  surround  us  with  illusion  ;  so  cunningly  ar- 
ranged as  to  harrow  up  the  soul ;  and  the  presence 
of  a  real  person  would  spoil  its  completeness.  As 
figures,  all  the  persons  are  adapted  with  peculiar 
skill  to  the  scenes  in  which  they  appear ; — the 
more,  as  they  are  part  of  one  entire  conception. 
Schedoni  is  the  most  individual  and  fearful ;  but 
through  all  the  earlier  parts  of  the  romance,  he 
stalks  like  a  being  not  of  this  world  ;  and  works 
out  his  purposes  by  that  which }  for  the  time  at 
least,  we  feel  to  be  superhuman  agency.  But 
when,  after  glaring  out  upon  us  so  long  as  a  pre- 
sent demon  ;  or  felt,  when  unseen,  as  directing  the 
whole  by  his  awful  energies ;  he  is  brought  within 
the  range  of  human  emotion  by  the  discovery  of 
his  supposed  daughter,  and  an  anxiety  for  her 
safety  and  marriage ;  the  spell  is  broken.  We 
feel  the  incongruity  ;  as  if  a  spectre  should  weep. 
To  develope  character  was  not  within  the  scope  of 
Mrs.  Radcliffe's  plan,  nor  compatible  with  her 
style.  At  one  touch  of  human  pathos  the  enchant- 
ment would  have  been  dissolved,  as  spells  are 
broken  by  a  holy  word,  or  as  the  ghost  of  Pro- 
tesilaus  vanished  before  the  earthly  passion  of  his 
enamoured  widow. 

As  the  absence  of  discriminated  feeling  and  cha- 
racter was  necessary  to  the  completeness  of  the  effect 
Mrs.  Radcliffe  sought  to  produce,  so  she  was  rather 
assisted  by  manners  peculiarly  straight-laced  and 


OF    MRS.    RADCLTFFE.  121 

timorous.  A  deep  vein  of  sentiment  would  have 
suggested  thoughts  and  emotions  inconsistent  with 
that  "  wise  passiveness, "  in  which  the  mind  should 
listen  to  the  soft  murmur  of  her  "  most  musical, 
most  melancholy"  spells.  A  moral  paradox  could 
not  co-exist  with  a  haunted  tower  in  the  mind  of 
her  readers.  The  exceeding  coldness  and  pru- 
dence of  her  heroines  do  not  abstract  them  from 
the  scenes  of  loveliness  and  terror  through 
which  we  desire  to  follow  them.  If  her  scru- 
pulous sense  of  propriety  had  not  restrained  her 
comic  powers,  Mrs.  Radcliffe  would  probably 
have  displayed  considerable  talent  for  the  hu- 
morous. But  her  talkative  servants  are  all  very- 
guarded  in  their  loquacity  ;  and  even  Annette, 
quaintly  and  pleasantly  depicted,  fairly  belongs 
to  the  scene.  Her  old-fashioned  primness  of 
thought,  which  with  her  was  a  part  of  conscience, 
with  all  its  cumbrous  accompaniments,  serves  at 
once  to  render  definite,  and  to  set  off,  her  fanciful 
creations.  Romance,  as  exhibited  by  her,  "  tricked 
in  antique  ruff  and  bonnet,'*  has  yet  eyes  of  youth  ; 
and  the  beauty  is  not  diminished  by  the  folds  of  the 
brocade,  or  the  stiffness  of  the  damask  stomacher. 

These  remarks  apply,  in  their  fullest  effect,  only 
to  "  The  Mysteries  o/Udolpho"  and  "  The  Pa/ian}' 
in  which  alone  the  chief  peculiarities  of  Mrs.  Rad- 
cliffe's  genius  are  decidedly  marked.  In  her  first 
work,  "  The  Castles  of  At  hi  hi  and  Dunbayne? 'it  is 
scarcely  possible  to  discover  their  germ.    Its  scene 

vol.  i.  g 


122  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

is  laid  "  in  the  most  romantic  part  of  the  Highlands 
of  Scotland,''  yet  it  is  without  local  truth  or  strik- 
ing picture.  It  is  at  once  extravagant  and  cold. 
Except  one  scene,  where  the  Earl  of  Athlin  pur- 
sues two  strangers  through  the  vaults  of  his  castle, 
and  is  stabbed  by  one  of  them  in  the  darkness, 
nothing  is  delineated;  but  incredible  events  follow 
each  other  in  quick  succession,  without  any  attempt 
to  realize  them.  Those,  who  complain  of  the  mi- 
nuteness of  Mrs.  RadclifiVs  descriptions,  should 
read  this  work,  where  every  thing  passes  with  head- 
long rapidity,  and  be  convinced  of  their  error.  In 
some  few  instances,  perhaps,  in  "  The  Mysteries  of 
Udolpho,"  the  descriptions  of  external  scenery  may 
occur  too  often ;  but  her  best  style  is  essentially 
pictorial ;  and  a  slow  developement  of  events  was, 
therefore,  necessary  to  her  success. 

The  "Sicilian  Romance"  is  a  work  of  much  more 
"  mark  and  likelihood ;"  and,  very  soon  after  its 
first  appearance,  attracted  a  considerable  share  of 
public  attention.  Here  the  softer  blandishments 
of  our  author's  style,  which  were  scarcely  percept- 
ible in  her  first  production,  were  spread  forth  to 
captivate  the  fancy.  Transported  to  the  "  sweet 
south,""  her  genius,  which  had  shrunk  in  the  bleak 
atmosphere  of  Scotland,  caught  the  luxurious  spi- 
rit of  a  happier  clime.  Never  was  a  title  more  justly 
applied  than  to  this  romance  ;  it  reminds  the  reader 
of  "  Sicilian  fruitfulness."  In  tender  and  luxurious 
description  of  natural  scenery,  it  is  surpassed  by 
none  of  Mrs.  RadclinVs  productions.     The  flight 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE.  123 

of  her  heroine  is  like  a  strain  of  "lengthened 
sweetness  long  drawn  out ;" — as  one  series  of  deli- 
cious valleys  opens  on  us  after  another;  and  the 
purple  light  of  love  is  shed  over  all.  Still  she  had 
not  yet  acquired  a  mastery  over  her  own  power 
of  presenting  terrific  incidents  and  scenes  to  the 
eye  of  the  mind,  and  awakening  the  throbs  of  sus- 
pense by  mysterious  suggestions.  The  light  seen 
through  the  closed  windows  of  the  deserted  rooms 
— the  confession  of  Vincent  stopped  by  death — the 
groans  heard  from  beneath  Ferdinand's  prison — 
and  the  figure  perceived  stealing  among  the  vaults, 
are  not  introduced  with  sufficient  earnestness,  and 
lose  all  claim  to  belief,  by  the  utter  incredibility 
of  the  incidents,  with  which  they  are  surrounded. 
Escapes,  recaptions,  encounters  with  fathers  and 
banditti,  surprising  partings,  and  more  surprising 
meetings,  follow  each  other  as  quickly  as  the 
changes  of  a  pantomime,  and  with  almost  as  little 
of  intelligible  connexion.  One  example  may  suf- 
fice.— Hippolitus  enters  a  ruin  by  moonlight,  for 
shelter ;  hears  a  voice  as  of  a  person  in  agony ;  sees, 
through  a  shattered  casement,  a  group  of  banditti 
plundering  a  man,  who  turns  out  to  be  Ferdinand, 
his  intended  brother-in-law;  finds  himself,  he 
knows  not  how,  in  a  vault ;  hears  a  scream  from 
an  inner  apartment ;  bursts  open  the  door  and  dis- 
covers a  lady  fainting,  whom  he  recognizes  as  his 
mistress ;  overhears  a  quarrel  and  combat  for  the 
lady  between  two  of  the  banditti,  which  ends  in 
the  death  of  one  of  them  ;  fights  with  the  survivor, 


124  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

and  kills  him ;  endeavours  to  escape  with  Julia  ; 
finds  his  way  into  a  "  dark  abyss,''  which  is  no 
other  than  the  burial-place  of  the  victims  of  the 
banditti,  marked  with  graves,  and  strewed  with 
unburied  carcases;  climbs  to  a  grate,  and  wit- 
nesses a  combat  between  the  robbers  and  officers  of 
justice  ;  escapes  with  the  lady  through  a  secret 
door  into  the  forest,  where  they  are  pursued  by 
her  father's  party  ;  but,  while  he  fights  at  the 
mouth  of  a  cavern,  she  loses  her  way  in  its  recesses? 
till  they  actually  conduct  her  to  the  dungeon  where 
her  mother,  who  had  been  considered  dead  for 
fifteen  years,  is  imprisoned ; — and  all  this  in  a  few 
pages  !  There  are,  in  this  short  story,  incidents 
enough  for  two  such  works  as  "  The  Mysteries  of 
Udolpho,'1  where,  as  in  that  great  romance,  they 
should  not  only  be  told,  but  painted ;  and  where 
reality  and  grandeur  should  be  given  to  their  ter- 
rors. 

In  "  The  Romance  of  the  Forest,"  Mrs.  Rad- 
cliffe,  who,  since  the  dawn  of  her  powers,  had  been 
as  one  "  moving  about  in  worlds  unrealized,"  first 
exhibited  the  faculty  of  controlling  and  fixing  the 
wild  images  which  floated  around  her,  and  of 
stamping  on  them  the  impress  of  consistency  and 
truth.  This  work  is,  as  a  whole,  the  most  faultless 
of  all  her  productions ;  but  it  is  of  an  inferior  order 
to  "  The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho"  and  "  The  Italian  ;*• 
and  can  only  be  preferred  by  those,  who  think  the 
absence  of  error  of  more  importance  than  original 


OF    MRS.   ItADCLlFFE.  125 

excellence.  There  is  a  just  proportion  between 
all  its  parts  ;  its  mysteries  are  adequately  explain- 
ed ;  it  excites  and  gratifies  a  very  pleasant  degree 
of  curiosity;  but  it  does  not  seem  to  dilate  the  ima- 
gination, nor  does  it  curdle  the  blood.  Its  open- 
ing after  a  sentence  of  marvellous  common-place, 
is  striking;  the  midnight  journey  of  La  Motte  and 
his  family  they  know  not  whither,  and  the  intro- 
duction of  the  heroine,  under  extraordinary  cir- 
cumstances, to  their  care,  rivet  attention  to  all  that 
is  to  follow.  The  scenes  in  the  forest  where  they 
take  up  their  abode  are  charming.  This  seems 
the  most  delicious  asylum  for  the  persecuted  out- 
law; its  wood-walks  and  glades  glisten  before  us 
with  the  morning  dew  ;  and  there  is  something  in 
the  idea  of  finding  a  home  in  a  deserted  abbey, 
which  answers  to  some  of  the  wildest  dreams  of 
childhood,  and  innocently  gratifies  that  partiality 
for  unlicensed  pleasure,  or  repose,  which  is  so  na- 
tural to  the  heart.  The  whole  adventure  of  La 
Motte  and  the  Marquis  is  sufficiently  probable  and 
interesting  ;  and  the  influence,  which  it  ultimately 
enables  the  more  resolute  villain  to  exercise  over  the 
weaker,  is  managed  with  peculiar  skill,  and  turned 
to  great  account  in  the  progress  of  the  story. 
There  is  here  scarcely  any  hint  of  the  supernatu- 
ral ;  but  the  skeleton  in  the  chest  of  the  vaulted 
chamber  ;  the  dagger,  spotted  with  rust ;  the  manu- 
script of  the  prisoner,  which  Adeline  reads  by  the 
fitful  light  of  her  lamp,  and  which  proves  to  be 


126  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

written  by  her  own  father,  possess  us  with  the  ap- 
prehension of  some  secret  crime,  which  acquires 
importance  from  its  circumstances  and  its  mystery. 
There  are  some  highly-finished  scenes;  as  that 
where  Adeline,  in  her  solitary  chamber,  dares  not 
raise  her  eyes  to  her  glass,  lest  another  face  than 
her  own  should  meet  them ;  her  escape  with  a  man 
whom  she  supposes  to  be  the  servant  she  had 
trusted,  and  who  startles  her  with  a  strange  voice  ; 
the  luxurious  pavilion  of  the  Marquis,  to  which 
we  are  introduced  after  a  frightful  journey  through 
a  storm  ;  and,  above  all,  the  conversation,  in  which 
the  Marquis,  after  a  series  of  dark  solicitations, 
understood  by  La  Motte,  as  pointing  to  Adeline's 
dishonour,  proposes  her  death.  This  last,  as  a  piece 
of  dramatic  effect,  is  perhaps  equal  to  any  passage 
in  the  author's  works.  The  closing  chapters  of  the 
work  are  inferior  in  themselves  to  its  commence- 
ment ;  but  they  gratify  by  affording  a  worthy  so- 
lution of  the  intricacies  of  a  plot,  which  has  excited 
so  deep  an  interest  in  its  progress. 

"  The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho'''  is  by  far  the  most 
popular  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  works.  To  this  pre- 
eminence it  is,  we  think,  justly  entitled ;  for, 
although  "  The  Italian"  may  display  more  purely 
intellectual  power,  it  is  far  less  enchanting.  Of  all 
the  romances  in  the  world,  this  is  perhaps  the  most 
romantic.  Its  outline  is  noble,  it  is  filled  with 
majestic  or  beautiful  imagery ;  and  it  is  touched 
throughout  with  a  dreamy  softness,  which  har- 
monizes all  its  scenes,  and  renders  its  fascination 


OF    MHS.  RADCL1FFE.  127 

irresistible.     It  rises  from  the  gentlest  beauty  by- 
just   gradations  to   the  terrific  and  the  sublime. 
Nothing  can  be  fancied  more  soothing  to  the  mind, 
fevered  with   the  bustle  of  the  world,   than   the 
picture  of  domestic  repose,  with  which  it  opens. 
We  are  dwellers  in  the  home  of  the  good  St.  Au- 
bert,  who  has  retired  to  a  beautiful  spot,  once  the 
favourite  scene  of  his   youthful  excursions ;  and 
sharers   in    its    elegant    and    tranquil    pleasures. 
Next   come    the  exquisite  journey  of  the  father 
and  daughter  through    the  heart  of    the   Pyre- 
nees, where  we  trace  out  every  variety  of  moun- 
tain  grandeur ;   the  richly-coloured  scene  of  vin- 
tage  gaiety    among  the  woods  of  the   chateau  ; 
and  the  death  of  St.  Aubert  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  a  place,  which  we  understand  to  be  con- 
nected with  his  destiny,  and  where  strains  of  un- 
earthly music  are  heard  in   sad  accordance  with 
human  sorrow.      When  Emily's  aunt,    to  Avhose 
care  she  is  consigned,  marries  the  desperate  Mon- 
toni,  we  feel  that  the  clouds  are  gathering  round 
her  progress,  and  we  shudder  at  the  forebodings 
of  approaching  peril.     A  little  interval  is  given 
among  the  luxuries  of  Venice,  which  are  painted 
with  exquisite  delicacy  and   lightness ;  and  then 
the  work  of  terror  begins.     Nothing  can  be  more 
picturesque  than   the    ascent  of  the   Apennines; 
mountain  seems  to  rise  above  mountain  in  gloomy 
stateliness  before  us,  till  we  skirt  the  inmost  valley, 
far  shut  out  from  the  world,  and  Montoni,  breaking 
a  long  silence,  utters  the  charmed  words,  "  There 


1£S  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

isUdolpho  !"  The  ideas  of  extent,  of  massiveness, 
and  austere  grandeur,  conveyed  in  the  description 
of  the  castle,  have  matchless  force  and  distinctness, 
and  prepare  the  mind  for  the  crimes  and  won- 
ders, of  which  it  is  the  silent  witness.  Every  thing 
beneath  "  these  dark  battlements"  is  awful ;  the 
slightest  incidents  wear  a  solemn  hue,  and  "  Fate 
in  sullen  echoes'1  seems  to  "  tell  of  some  nameless 
deed."  Not  only  the  mysterious  appearances  and 
sounds  appal  us,  but  the  rushing  wind,  a  rustling 
curtain,  the  lonely  watch-word  on  the  terrace,  have 
power  to  startle,  and  keep  curiosity  awake.  The 
whole  persecution  and  death  of  Madame  Montoni 
seem  prodigious,  as  though  they  were  something 
out  of  nature ;  yet  they  derive  all  this  importance 
from  the  circumstances,  with  which  they  are  in- 
vested ;  for  there  is  nothing  extraordinary  in  the 
fate  of  a  despicable  woman,  worried  into  the  grave 
by  her  husband,  because  she  will  not  give  up  her 
settlement.  The  mysteries  of  Chateau  le  Blanc 
are  less  majestic  than  those  of  Udolpho,  but  per- 
haps they  are  even  more  touching ;  at  least,  the 
visit  of  Emily  to  the  chamber  where  the  Mar- 
chioness died,  twenty  years  before,  not  without 
suspicion  of  poison,  and  which  had  been  shut  up 
ever  since,  is  most  affecting  and  fearful.  The 
faded  magnificence  of  the  vast  apartment ;  the 
black  pall  lying  on  the  bed,  as  when  it  decked  the 
corpse ;  the  robe  and  articles  of  dress  remaining 
as  they  had  been  carelessly  scattered  in  the  life- 
time of  their  owner ;  her  veil,  which  hand   had 


OF    MRS.    ItADCLIFFE.  129 

never  approached  since,  now  dropping  into  pieces  ; 
her  lute  on  the  table,  as  it  was  touched  on  the 
evening  of  her  death ;  would  be  solemn  and  spec- 
tral, even  if  the  pall  did  not  move  and  a  face  arise 
from  beneath  it.  This  scene  derives  a  tenderer 
interest  from  the  strange  likeness,  which  Emily 
seems  to  bear  to  the  deceased  lady,  and  which  is 
artfully  heightened  by  the  action  of  the  old  house- 
keeper throwing  the  black  veil  over  her,  and  by  her 
touching  the  long-neglected  lute.  Such  are  some 
among  the  many  striking  features  of  this  romance  ; 
its  defects  are  great  and  obvious.  Its  mysteries  are 
not  only  resolved  into  natural  causes,  but  are  ex- 
plained by  circumstances  provokingly  trivial.  What 
reader  would  bear  to  be  told  that  the  black  veil, 
from  which  his  imagination  has  scarcely  been  al- 
lowed to  turn  for  three  volumes,  conceals  a  waxen 
image ;  that  the  wild  music,  which  has  chanced  to 
float  on  the  air,  in  all  the  awful  pauses  of  action, 
proceeded  from  an  insane  nun,  permitted  to  wan- 
der about  the  woods  ;  and  that  the  words,  which 
startled  Montoni  and  his  friends,  at  their  guilty 
carousals,  were  uttered  by  a  man  wandering  through 
a  secret  passage  almost  without  motive;  unless  the 
power  and  sweetness  of  the  spell  remained  after  it 
was  thus  rudely  broken? 

"  The  Italian"  has  more  unity  of  plan  than  "  The 
Mysteries  of  Uldopho ;"  and  its  pictures  are  more 
individual  and  distinct ;  but  it  has  far  less  tender- 
ness and  beauty.  Its  very  introduction,  unlike 
the  gentle   opening  of  the  former  romance,   im- 


130  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

presses  the  reader  with  awe.  Its  chief  agent, 
Schedoni,  is  most  vividly  painted  ;  and  yet  the 
author  contrives  to  invest  him  with  a  mystery, 
which  leads  us  to  believe,  that  even  her  image  is 
inadequate  to  the  reality.  Up  to  the  period,  at 
which  he  unnaturally  melts  from  demon  to  man, 
he  is  the  always  chief  figure  when  he  is  present ; 
and,  where  we  do  not  see  him,  his  spirit  yet  seems 
to  influence  all  around  us.  The  great  scenes  of 
this  romance  stand  out  in  bold  relief  as  in  com- 
partments ;  of  which  the  chief  are  the  adventures 
in  the  vaults  of  Pallozzi;  the  machinations  of 
Schedoni  and  the  Marchioness,  for  the  destruction 
of  the  heroine ;  her  confinement  in  the  monastery 
of  San  Stephano,  and  her  escape  with  Vivaldi ;  her 
terrible  sojourn  in  Spalatro's  cottage  on  the  sea- 
shore ;  and  the  whole  representation  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion, which  fills  the  mind  when  Schedonrs  suprema- 
cy ceases.  Of  these,  perhaps  the  very  finest  is  the 
scene  in  the  church,  where  the  Confessor  makes 
palpable  to  the  Marchioness  the  secret  wishes  of 
her  heart  for  Ellena's  death:  the  situation  is  essen- 
tially fearful ;  and  all  the  circumstances  are  con- 
trived with  admirable  effect  to  heighten,  vary  and 
prolong  the  feeling  of  curiosity  and  terror.  The 
dreary  horrors  of  the  fisherman's  cottage  are  ad- 
mirably painted ;  but  the  effort  to  produce  a  great 
theatrical  effect  is  very  imperfectly  concealed  ;  and 
we  cannot  help  being  somewhat  dissatisfied  with 
the  process  of  bringing  a  helpless  orphan  to  such 
a  distance,  merely  that  she  may  be  murdered  with 


OF    MRS.    RADCLIFFE,  131 

eclat ;  with  the  equally  unaccountable  delay  in 
performing  the  deed ;  the  strange  relentings  of 
the  ruffian ;  and  the  long  preparation,  which  pre- 
cedes the  attempt  of  Schedoni  to  strike  the  fatal 
blow.  There  is  great  art  in  the  scene,  to  which 
all  this  is  introductory ;  and  the  discovery  of  the 
portrait  is  a  most  striking  coup  de  theatre;  but  the 
art  is  too  palpable,  and  the  contrast  between  the 
assassin  and  the  father  too  violent — at  least,  for  a 
second  perusal.  Not  so,  the  graphic  description 
of  the  vast  prisons  of  the  Inquisition;  they  are  dim, 
prodigious,  apparently  eternal ;  and  the  style  is 
solemn  and  weighty  as  the  subject.  Mrs.  Radcliffe 
alone  could  have  deepened  the  horror  of  this  gloom 
by  whispers  of  things  yet  more  terrible ;  and  sug- 
gest fears  of  the  unseen,  which  should  overcome  the 
present  apprehensions  of  bodily  torture. 

Of  the  tale  and  the  poems  now  first  presented  to 
the  world,  it  would  scarcely  become  us  particularly 
to  speak.  The  verses,  scattered  through  all  the 
romances,  are  so  inartificially  introduced,  that  they 
have  little  chance  of  being  estimated  by  an  impa- 
tient reader ;  but,  when  examined,  they  will  be 
found  replete  with  felicitous  expression  and  with 
rich  though  indistinct  imagery. 

In  her  own  peculiar  style  of  composition,  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  has  never  been  approached.  Her  success 
naturally  drew  forth  a  crowd  of  imitators,  who  pro- 
duced only  cumbrous  caricatures,  in  which  the  ter- 
rors were  without  decorum,  and  the  explanations  ab- 
solutely farcical.    No  successful  writer  has  followed 


132  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS. 

her  without  calling  to  aid  other  means,  which  she 
would  not  condescend  to  use.  The  Author  of 
4'  The  Monk"  mingled  a  sickly  voluptuousness 
with  his  terrors ;  and  Maturin,  full  of  "  rich  con- 
ceit s,"  approached  the  borders  of  the  forbidden  in 
speculation,  and  the  paradoxical  in  morals.  She 
only,  of  all  writers  of  romance,  who  have  awed  and 
affected  the  public  mind,  by  hints  of  things  un- 
seen, has  employed  enchantments  purely  innocent ; 
has  forborne  to  raise  one  questionable  throb,  or  call 
forth  a  momentary  blush.  This  is  the  great  test 
not  only  of  moral  feeling,  but  of  intellectual 
power ;  and  in  this  will  be  found  her  highest  praise. 


The  Editor  of  the  present  Publication,,  who  is  not 
the  Writer  of  the  preceding  Memoir,  is  aware,  that  it 
would  be  unbecoming  for  him  to  say  more  of  Works, 
written  by  one  so  dear  to  him,  than  may  be  necessary 
to  give  the  Public  an  early  assurance  of  their  authen- 
ticity ;  and  that  fact,  he  apprehends,  will  be  suffici- 
ently proved  by  the  distribution,  which  he  has  resolved 
to  make,  of  the  whole  purchase-money  of  the  copy-right. 
Every  part  of  that  produce  will  be  paid,  as  it  shall 
accrue  to  him,  to  some  public  charitable  institution  in 
England.  The  Lord  Bishop  of  Bath  and  Wells,  and 
Sir  Walter  Stirling,  Bart,  in  consideration  of  the 
utility  of  this  purpose,  allow  him  the  honour  of  say- 
ing, that  they  will  audit  his  account  of  that  distribu- 
tion. 


GASTON  DE  BLONDEVILLE; 

OR    THE 

COURT   OF   HENRY  THE  THIRD 
KEEPING  FESTIVAL  IN  ARDEN. 


VOL.    I.  B 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE 


INTRODUCTION. 

"  Well  !  now  are  we  in  Arden,"  said 
an  English  traveller  to  his  companion,  as 
they  passed  between  Coventry  and  War- 
wick, over  ground,  which  his  dear  Shaks- 
peare  had  made  classic.  As  he  uttered 
this  exclamation  of  Rosalind,  he  looked  for- 
ward with  somewhat  of  the  surprise  and 
curiosity,  which  she  may  be  supposed  to 
have  felt,  and  with  an  enthusiasm  all  his 
own,  on  beholding  the  very  scene,  into 
which  the  imagination  of  the  poet  had  so 
often  transported  him  with  a  faint  degree 
B  2 


4  GASTON    DE    BLOND F.VILLE. 

of  its  own  rapture.  He  was  not,  it  appears, 
one  of  those  critics,  who  think  that  the 
Arden  of  Shakspeare,  lay  in  France.  But 
he  looked  in  vain  for  the  thick  and  gloomy 
woods,  which,  in  a  former  age,  were  the 
home  of  the  doubtful  fugitive,  and  so  much 
the  terror  of  the  traveller,  that  it  had  been 
found  necessary,  on  this  very  road,  to  clear 
the  ground,  for  a  breadth  of  six  acres  on 
each  side,  in  order  to  protect  the  way- 
faring part  of  his  Majesty's  liege  subjects. 
Now,  albeit  the  landscape  was  still  wild 
and  woody,  he  could  not  any  where  espy 
a  forest  scene  of  dignity  sufficient  to  call 
up  before  his  fancy  the  exiled  duke  and 
his  court,  at  their  hunter-feast,  beneath 
the  twilight  of  the  boughs ;  nor  a  single 
beech,  under  the  grandeur  of  whose  shade 
the  melancholy  Jaques,  might  "lose  and  ne- 
glect the  creeping  hours  of  time,"  while  he 
sadly  sympathized  with  the  poor  stag,  that, 
escaped  from  the  pursuit  of  man,  came  to 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEV1LLE.  5 

drop  his  tears  into  the  running  brook,  and 
to  die  in  quiet.  Not  even  a  grove  appear- 
ed, through  whose  deep  vista  the  traveller 
might  fancy  that  he  caught,  in  the  gayer 
light,  a  glimpse  of  the  wandering  Rosalind 
and  her  companions,  the  wearied  princess 
and  the  motley  fool,  or  of  the  figure  of 
Orlando,  leaning  against  an  oak,  and  listen- 
ing to  her  song :  he  could  not  even  catch 
the  last  faint  echo  of  that  song,  in  a  scene 
so  different  from  the  one  his  fancy  had  re- 
presented to  him  for  the  forest  of  Arden. 

"  Alas!'1  said  he,  "  that  enchanting  vi- 
sion is  no  more  found,  except  in  the  very 
heart  of  a  populous  city,  and  then  neither 
by  the  glimmering  of  the  dawn,  nor  by  the 
glow  of  evening,  but  by  the  paltry  light  of 
stage-lamps.  Yet  there,  surrounded  by  a 
noisy  multitude,  whose  cat-calls  often  piped 
instead  of  the  black-bird,  I  have  found 
myself  transported  into  the  wildest  region 
of  poetry  and  solitude  ;  while  here,  on  the 


O  GASTON    DE    ELONDEVILLE. 

very  spot  which  Shakspeare  drew,  I  am 
suddenly  let  down  from  the  full  glow  of 
my  holiday-feelings  into  the  plain  reality 
of  this  work-a-day  world." 

Here  ensued  a  conversation  on  illusions 
of  the  imagination  and  on  the  various 
powers  of  exciting  them,  shown  by  English 
poets,  especially  by  Shakspeare  and  Mil- 
ton, which  it  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  in 
this  place.  Such  was  its  length,  that  Mr. 
Simpson's  part  in  it  had  gradually  become 
less  and  less  active,  while  Wilioughton's 
increased  earnestness  had  rendered  him  less 
and  less  S3nsible  of  the  deficiency  of  replies. 
At  last,  on  his  asking,  rather  peremptorily, 
whether  his  friend  did  not  recollect  some 
fine  effects  of  the  towers  of  Windsor  Castle 
upon  the  imagination,  Mr.  Simpson,  fortu- 
nately concealing  how  nearly  he  had  ap- 
proached to  a  nap,  answered,  "  No,  no ;  I 
do  not  recollect  any  thing  of  what  you  tell 
me ;  but  you  were  talking  a  little  while 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  7 

ago  of  Hamlet  and  towers ;  now,  if  you 
want  towers  that  would  do  honour  to 
Hamlet,  go  to  Warwick  Castle,  and  if  we 
reach  it,  as  we  hope,  this  night,  you  can 
walk  from  the  inn  while  supper  is  prepar- 
ing, and  you  will  find,  on  the  terrace  or 
platform  before  the  gates,  towers  frown- 
ing and  majestic  enough.  If  the  moon  is 
up,  you  will  see  them  to  perfection,  and,  as 
you  are  so  fond  of  ghosts,  you  can  hardly 
fail  to  make  an  assignation  with  one  there." 
"  I  shall  delight  in  the  advantage,"  re- 
plied Willoughton,  laughing :  "  Though  I 
am  not  so  fond  of  ghosts  in  general,  as  you 
seem  to  think.  It  is  only  for  a  few  of  par- 
ticular excellence,  that  I  feel  a  friendship ; 
for  them,  indeed,  I  am  willing  to  own  even 
an  affection/* 

Willoughton,  not  receiving  a  rejoinder, 
observed,  that  his  friend  had  fallen  again 
into  his  nap ;  and  he  returned  to  the  busy 
thoughts,  to   which  his  first  view  of  this 


8  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

land  of  Arden,  the  ground  of  Shakspeare, 
had  led.  Sunk  in  reverie,  he  was  no  longer 
in  the  living  scene,  hut  ranging  over  worlds 
of  his  own,  till  a  jolt  of  the  carriage  awoke 
his  companion ;  who,  shaking  his  head,  and 
looking  out  of  the  window,  with  the  sudden 
alertness  of  one  who  thinks  he  has  been 
losing  time,  now  supposed  himself  bound 
to  brush  up  his  thoughts  and  to  talk  to  his 
friend. 

Willoughton  could  well  have  spared  the 
interruption,  till  a  remark,  delivered  with 
an  air  of  self-satisfaction,  touched  the  string 
that  recalled  him  willingly  to  the  present 
scene. 

"  There  now  is  an  oak,"  said  Simpson, 
"  that  may  have  been  of  Elizabeth's  time, 
by  the  hollowness  of  its  vast  trunk  and  the 
state  of  its  branches." 

"  Ay,  long  before  her  time,"  said  his 
companion,  "  and  perhaps  Shakspeare's  eyes 
have  dwelt  on  it ;  perhaps  he  has  rested 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  J 

under  its  shade  : — O  !  we  are  coming  now 
to  something  like  the  Forest  of  Arden  :  see 
how  finely  the  woods  rise  in  the  distance, 
and  what  a  rich  gleam  the  west  era  sun 
throws  along  the  ground,  beyond  those 
low-hung  boughs  on  our  left.'* 

As  the  travellers  advanced  upon  Kenil- 
worth-chace,  the  country  assumed  a  mere 
forest-like  appearance,  and  a  new  train  of 
ideas  engaged  Willoughton,  on  approach- 
ing the  venerable  ruins  of  the  once  magnifi- 
cent castle,  at  one  period  its  prison,  and  at 
another,  the  plaisance  of  royalty,  where 
Edward  the  II.  groaned  under  the  traiter- 
ous  power  of  Mortimer,  and  his  abandoned 
Queen ;  and  where  the  crafty  Leicester 
entertained  Elizabeth,  with  princely  splen- 
dour. The  domain  of  this  castle,  with 
its  parks  and  chaces,  included  a  circuit  of 
nearly  twenty  miles  ;  and  when  a  survey 
of  it  was  taken  in  the  reign  of  James  the 
I.,  on  its  forfeiture  by  the  voluntary  exile 
b  5 


10  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

and  contempt  of  Sir  Robert  Dudley,  the 
son  of  Leicester  and  of  his  first  wife,  the 
Lady  Sheffield, — the  woods  alone  were 
valued  at  twenty  thousand  pounds,  accord- 
ing to  Dugdale,  who  observes  of  the  castle 
and  its  territory,  that  "the  like,  both  for 
strength,  state,  and  pleasure,  was  not  with- 
in the  realm  of  England." 

Recollections  of  the  long  and  varied  his- 
tory of  this  castle,  crowded  upon  the  mind^ 
of  Willoughton,  and  he  looked  out,  with 
impatience,  for  a  glimpse  of  its  stately 
towers  in  the  distance,  and  then  of  its 
mouldering  gateways,  in  the  sun  gleam,  be- 
neath the  woods  that  now  rose  round  him 
with  majestic  shade.  Here,  at  least,  was 
a  mass  and  pomp  of  foliage  worthy  of  the 
noble  ruin  he  was  approaching  and  of 
the  memory  of  Arden  ;  and,  when  he  first 
caught  a  view  of  the  grey  walls  and  turrets 
overtopping  the  woods,  lighted  up  by  the 
evening  sun,  whose    long  beams,   slanting 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  11 

now  under  the  boughs,  touched  with  a 
golden  flush  the  bending  trunk  of  many 
an  old  beech  standing  deep  within  the 
shade,  he  uttered  a  note  of  admiration 
and  curiosity  that  discomposed  Mr.  Simp- 
son, who  immediately  directed  the  posti- 
lion to  make  his  way  to  the  nearest  gate. 

Soon  afterwards  they  found  themselves 
in  a  valley,  whose  woody  slopes  excluded 
all  distant  prospect,  and  confined  their 
attention  to  the  venerable  relique,  which 
seemed  to  characterise,  with  its  own  quiet 
gloom,  the  surrounding  landscape.  They 
observed  the  several  fine  and  detached 
masses  of  the  castle  rising  on  a  lone  rock 
in  the  centre  of  this  secluded  little  valley ; 
and,  as  they  drove  towards  the  only  en- 
trance of  the  area  of  these  deserted  courts, 
near  the  square-turreted  gateway,  which 
Leicester  built  for  the  grand  approach 
to  the  castle,  the  impatience  of  Willongh- 
ton   became  tempered  with  a  gentle  and 


12  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

luxurious  melancholy,  and  he  forgot  even 
Shakspeare,  while  he  was  influenced  by 
somewhat  of  the  poet's  feelings. 

But  a  sense  of  real  life  broke  in  upon 
him  even  in  this  scene  of  solemn  grandeur, 
and  it  required  somewhat  of  the  patience 
of  a  philosopher  to  endure,  in  the  full  glow 
of  his  present  enthusiasm,  the  clamorous 
impetuosity  of  idle  children,  who,  on  the 
first  sound  of  wheels,  were  seen  running 
to  assail  the  strangers  from  every  cottage 
on  the  neighbouring  banks.  The  visions 
of  quiet  solitude  and  of  venerable  antiquity 
were,  in  an  instant,  dispersed ;  the  chaise 
was  surrounded,  and  the  travellers,  having 
alighted,  made  their  way  with  difficulty  to 
the  little  gate,  that  led  through  a  garden 
beside  Leicester's  ruined  tower  into  the 
area  that  was  once  the  lower  court  of  the 
castle,  followed  by  a  noisy  troop,  whom 
neither  money,  nor  command,  could  for 
some  time  disperse. 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  13 

The  tower — the  gateway  being  now 
closed  up, — was  no  longer  accessible  to 
curiosity,  nor  could  gratify  it  by  any  traits 
of  the  customs  of  former  times.  No  war- 
der's bench  lurked  within  the  gloom,  nor 
portcullis  hung  in  the  arch.  The  war- 
den's chamber  for  those,  who,  by  military 
tenure,  kept  guard  on  certain  nights  of 
the  year,  was  transformed  into  a  light  par- 
lour, and  the  whole  building  changed  into 
a  modern  habitation.  From  the  green  and 
broken  square,  anciently  the  lower  court- 
yard, the  travellers  looked  up  to  the  no- 
ble mass  of  ruins  that  yet  stand  proudly 
on  their  rocky  knoll,  and  form  three  ir- 
regular sides  of  what  was  once  the  inner 
and  grand  court. 

Of  the  fourth  side,  which  separated  the 
upper  from  the  lower  court,  are  now  no 
vestiges,  save  in  the  inequality  of  the 
ground  where  their  foundations  stood, 
and  where   the  walls,  fallen  from  above, 


14  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

may  lie  buried  under  the  turf  and  briers, 
that  now  cover  the  spot. 

On  the  left,  the  shattered  walls  of  that 
lofty  pile,  built  by  Leicester  and  still  call- 
ed by  his  name,  advance  proudly  to  the 
edge  of  the  eminence  that  overlooked  the 
lower  court,  hung  with  the  richest  drapery 
of  ivy ;  on  the  right,  stands  the  strong 
square  tower,  called  Caesar's,  which,  though 
the  most  ancient  part  of  the  castle,  appears 
fresher  and  less  injured  by  time,  than  parts 
that  were  raised  some  ages  later.  This 
was  the  keep,  or  citadel,  of  the  castle ;  and 
the  prodigious  thickness  of  the  walls  ap- 
pears through  the  three  arches  in  front, 
proportioned  and  shaped  like  some  which 
may  yet  be  seen  in  aqueducts  near  Rome  ; 
the  walls  here  show  a  depth  of  fifteen  or 
sixteen  feet.  The  stone,  of  which  this  no- 
ble tower  is  built,  is  of  closer  texture  and 
of  a  greyer  hue,  than  that  in  any  other 
part  of  the  building;    and  this  hue  har- 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  15 

monizes  beautifully  with  the  ivy  towers, 
which  overshadow  its  arches  and  door- 
cases, and  with  the  ashlings  and  elder 
crowning  its  summit,  which  highly  over- 
tops every  relique  of  this  once  magnificent 
abode  of  princes. 

"  It  should  seem,"  said  Willoughton, 
"  that  no  human  force  could  lay  low  walls 
of  such  strength  as  these  ;  yet,  as  one  side 
of  the  tower  is  destroyed,  while  the  other 
three  remain  nearly  entire,  it  must  have 
been  assailed  by  some  power  more  sudden 
and  partial  than  that  of  time." 

"  Yes,  Sir,  yes,"  said  a  man,  who  had 
been  standing  by,  observing  the  strangers 
with  attentive  curiosity,  "  that  part  was 
pulled  down  by  Cromwell's  soldiers,  and, 
if  they  had  had  more  time  on  their  side, 
they  would  have  pulled  it  all  down  ;  as  it 
was,  they  did  a  mort  of  mischief." 

Willoughton  turned  to  look  at  his  in- 
former, and  saw  a  tall,  thin  man,  who  ap- 


6 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 


peared  to  be  a  villager,  and  who,  without 
waiting  for  encouragement,  proceeded :  "  I 
have  heard  say,  they  destroyed  all  that 
stood  between  Caesar's  and  John  O'Gaunt's 
tower  there,  at  the  end  of  the  great  hall, 
and  a  deal  on  the  other  side  of  the  court, 
between  the  Whitehall  and  Lord  Leices- 
ter's buildings." 

"  Are  those  walls  before  us  the  remains 
of  the  great  hall?"  inquired  Mr.  Simpson, 
pointing  to  a  picturesque  mass  of  ruins, 
standing  on  the  third  side  of  the  upper 
court  and  seen  in  perspective  between  the 
other  two. 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  said  the  man,  "  that  there 
was  the  great  banqueting-hall  where" — 

"  Leicester  entertained  Queen  Eli- 
zabeth," observed  Willoughton.  "  How 
beautifully  the  ivy  falls  over  those  light 
Gothic  window-mullions  and  that  arched 
door-way,  so  appropriately  and  elegantly 
sculptured   with   vine-leaves !      The    sun 


GASTON    BE    BLONDEVILLE. 


17 


now  slopes  its  rays  through  the  arch,  as  if 
purposely  to  show  the  beauty  of  its  pro- 
portion and  the  grace  of  the  vine  that 
entwines  it." 

"  Ay,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  "  many  a  pit- 
cher of  wine  and  many  a  baron  of  beef 
have  been  earned  under  that  arch  by  the 
kings  yeomen,  when  Henry  the  Third 
kept  his  court  here." 

*  I  doubt  whether  by  yeomen,"  replied 
Willoughton,  "  for,  though  yeomen  of  the 
household  are  mentioned,  about  this  time, 
yeomen  of  the  guard,  a  part  of  whose 
office  it  afterwards  became  to  carry  certain 
dishes  to  the  king's  table,  do  not  occur 
till  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Seventh.  How- 
ever, it  is  probable,  that,  before  the  ap- 
pointment of  the  latter,  yeomen  of  the 
household  might  perform  this  business  on 
state  occasions,  and  in  that  very  hall  may 
have  stood  before  the  long  tables,  in  dou- 
ble row,  with  wine  ewers  in  their  hands." 


18 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVTLLE. 


"  Those  were  times  worth  living  in," 
observed  Mr.  Simpson. 

"  Ay,  those  were  jolly  times  !  Sir,"  said 
the  stranger  man ;  "  it 's  lonely  and  sad 
enough  in  that  old  hall  now  ;  nothing  but 
briers  and  ivy.  Why,  there  is  an  ivy  tree 
now  against  that  old  wall  there,  partly  as 
old  as  the  wall  itself.  Look,  Sir,  it  is  as 
grey,  and  almost  as  sapless  as  the  stone  it 
crawls  upon,  though  the  trunk  is  such  a 
size,  and  hardly  shows  a  green  leaf,  spring 
or  summer." 

The  travellers  made  their  way  among 
the  briers  to  take  a  nearer  view  of  it ; 
and,  if  verdant  festoons  of  younger  plants 
had  charmed  them,  Willoughton,  at  least, 
was  no  less  affected  by  the  withered  si- 
news and  grey  locks  of  this  most  forlorn 
and  aged  tree,  which  had  itself  become  a 
ruin,  while  adorning  another.  He  climbed 
over  hillocks  of  briers  and  weeds,  which 
now  covered  the  ruins  of  walls,  fallen  into 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  19 

this  court-yard,  and  he  looked  down  into 
the  area  of  the  great  hall,  through  a  door- 
way which  had  once  led  from  it  by  a 
vestibule  towards  the  white-hall,  of  which 
latter  hardly  a  vestige  remains,  and  to 
King  Henry's  lodgings.  Here  he  distin- 
guished the  upper  end  of  that  magnificent 
banqueting-room,  the  very  spot  where  the 
dels,  or  high  table,  had  stood,  which  had 
feasted  kings  and  princes,  its  lords,  or  vi- 
sitors ;  where  Henry  the  Third  had  sit- 
ten,  where  John  O'  Gaunt  had  caroused, 
and  where  Elizabeth  had  received  the 
homage  of  Leicester. 

At  one  end  of  this  platform  were  still 
the  remains  of  the  large  bay-window,  open- 
ing upon  the  grand-court,  where  the  cup- 
board had  stood,  and  the  golden  plate 
was  piled  ;  at  the  other  end,  a  windowed 
recess  bowed  out  towards  the  spot,  where 
there  had  been  a  lake,  and  to  woods,  that 
still  flourished.     This  also,  on  state  occa- 


20 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 


sions,  had  probably  held  a  plate-board,  or 
cup-board,  and,  on  others,  had  been  oc- 
cupied as  a  pleasant  seat,  commanding  the 
finest  views  of  the  park. 

The  four  walls  only  of  this  noble  hall 
marked  its  former  grandeur,  not  a  frag- 
ment of  either  roof,  or  floor,  remaining ; 
the  ground,  upon  which  Willoughton  im- 
mediately looked,  having  been  the  foun- 
dation of  a  chamber,  or  hall,  for  domestic 
and  inferior  guests,  under  the  great  one, 
which  was  eighty-six  feet  in  length,  and 
forty-five  in  width. 

Those  walls,  where  gorgeous  tapestry 
had  hung,  showed  only  the  remains  of 
door-ways  and  of  beautiful  gothic  win- 
dows, that  had  admitted  the  light  of  the 
same  sun,  which  at  this  moment  sent  the 
last  gleam  of  another  day  upon  Willough- 
ton, and  warned  him,  that  another  portion 
of  his  life  too  was  departing. 


GASTON    DE    I3LOXDF.VILLE.  -1 

The  melancholy  scene  around  him  spoke, 
with  the  simplicity  of  truth,    the  brevity 
and  nothingness  of  this  life.     Those  walls 
seemed  to  say — "  Generations  have  beheld 
us  and  passed  away,  as  you  now  behold  us, 
and  shall  pass  away.     They  have  thought 
of  the  generations  before  their  time,    as 
you  now  think  of  them,  and  as  future  ones 
shall  think  of  you.     The  voices,  that  re- 
velled beneath  us,  the  pomp  of  power,  the 
magnificence  of  wealth,  the  grace  of  beauty, 
the  joy  of  hope,  the  interests  of  high  pas- 
sion and  of  low  pursuits  have  passed  from 
this  scene  for  ever ;    yet  we  remain,  the 
spectres  of  departed  years   and    shall  re- 
main, feeble  as  we  are,  when  you,  who  now 
gaze  upon  us,  shall  have  ceased  to  be  in 
this  world !" 

"  Why,  here  is  a  stone  bench  yet  in  this 
old  window,"  said  Mr.  Simpson ;  "  and  a 
pleasant  window  it  is  still.      This  homely 


**  GASTON    DE    BLONDEV1LLE. 

bench  has  outlived  all  the  trappings  of  the 
castle,  though,  I  dare  say,  it  was  little  va- 
lued in  their  time  ! " 

"  You  see,  Sir,*'  said  the  old  man,  "  it 
belongs  to  the  wall  itself;  else  it  would 
have  been  carried  off  long  ago." 

Willoughton  turned  at  the  now  repeated 
voice  of  this  stranger,  whose  intrusion  he 
did  not  entirely  like,  though  his  knowledge 
of  the    castle   might   be    useful,   and   his 
conduct  did  not  appear  to  be  ill-meant.   To 
an  inquiry,  whether  he  lived  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, he  answered,  "  Hard  by,  Sir,  in 
Kenilworth.     I  saw  you  was  a  stranger, 
Sir,  and  thought  you  might  like  to  know  a 
little  about  the  castle  here  ;    and,   unless 
you  hap  to  light  on  such  a  one  as  me,  you 
may  go  away  as  wise  as  you  came — for, 
you  will  know  nothing.      No  offence,   I 
hope,  Sir." 

"  No,   no  ;  no   offence   at  all ;"  replied 
Willoughton  ;  "  and  since  you  are  so  well 


GASTON    BE    BLONDEVILLE.  23 

acquainted  with  this  spot,  let  me  hear  a 
little  of  what  you  know  of  it." 

"  Ay,  let  us  hear  what  you  have  to 
say,"  said  Mr.  Simpson. 

Willoughton,  turning  as  he  heard  this, 
perceived  his  friend  seated  in  the  recess 
he  had  before  noticed.  Much  remained 
of  the  beautiful  stone-work  of  this  bay- 
window,  and  it  now  showed  itself  upon 
the  glowing  west,  where  the  sun  had  just 
descended,  behind  the  dark  woods  of  the 
valley.  He  advanced  into  it,  and  looking 
out  upon  the  scenery,  was  interested  by 
the  stillness  and  solemnity  that  began  to 
prevail  over  it.  At  some  distance  down 
the  steep  bank  on  which  the  castle  stands, 
he  could  distinguish  fragments  of  the 
walls  that  once  surrounded  it,  with  here 
and  there  some  remains  of  a  tower,  or  a 
banqueting-house.  The  ground  below 
seemed  marshy,  but  pasture  of  a  better 
green    stretched   up   the    opposite   slopes, 


24  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

and  mingled  with  the  woods,  that,  on 
every  side,  shut  out  the  world !  This 
valley  seemed  the  home  of  a  composed 
melancholy. 

"  But  where,"  said  Willoughton,  "  is 
the  noble  lake  that,  in  Leicester's  time, 
surrounded  this  castle,  on  which,  as  you 
may  have  heard,  Queen  Elizabeth  was 
welcomed  with  pageants  and  so  much 
flattery?" 

"  Ay,  where  is  it  ?"  echoed  Mr.  Simpson, 
looking  at  the  old  man  with  an  air  that 
seemed  to  say, "  Now  we  have  some  use 
for  you,  and  will  put  you  to  the  test." 

But  Willoughton,  without  giving  him 
time  to  reply,  proceeded : — 

"  I  am  doomed  to  disappointment  in 
Arden.  For  many  miles,  I  could  not  dis- 
cover any  thing  like  a  forest-shade,  that 
might  have  sheltered  a  banished  court,  or 
favourite ;  and  here  not  a  wave  of  the 
lake,    that   delighted   a   festive   one,   and 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  25 

which  might  have  supplied  me  with  a 
floating  island,  moving  torvthe  sound  of 
invisible  music,  or  to  the  shells  of  sur- 
rounding tritons  and  sea-nymphs.  Nay, 
I  cannot  even  catch  a  gleam  of  the  tor- 
ches, which,  on  such  an  occasion,  might 
have  thrown  their  light  on  the  woods  and 
towers  of  the  castle,  and  have  quivered 
on  the  waters  over  which  they  passed.'* 

w  No,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  "  it  would 
be  a  hard  matter  to  find  any  thing  of  all 
that  now.  Cromwell's  people  would  have 
knocked  all  that  o'  the  head,  when  they 
drained  off  the  water,  if  such  things  had 
been  there  then." 

"  Cromwell's  people  again  !  However  it 
is  as  well  to  remember  them.  What  had 
the  venerable  scenes  of  Kenilworth  to  do 
with  politics,  or  freedom?  But  thus  it  is  ;  if 
even  the  leaders  in  political  agitations  have 
a  better  taste  themselves  than  to  destroy, 
for  the  mere  sake  of  destruction,  they  let 

vol.  i.  c 


26 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 


the  envy  and  malice  of  their  followers 
rage  away  against  whatsoever  is  beautiful, 
or  grand." 

So  said  Willoughton  to  his  friend,  who 
smiled,  as  he  perceived  that  the  indig- 
nant admirer  of  antiquity  had  allowed 
himself  to  speak  of  a  military  operation, 
as  though  it  had  been  a  popular  com- 
motion. 

"  Where  went  the  line  of  the  lake,  my 
man  of  Kenilworth  ?"  asked  Simpson. 

"  Why,  Sir,  it  flowed  round  two  sides 
of  the  castle,  as  I  have  heard  say  ;  it  went 
from  the  tilt-yard,  all  along  the  valley 
here,  for  half  a  mile,  and  spread  out  at  the 
foot  of  these  banks, — as  wide  as  to  the 
woods  yonder,  on  the  hill  side." 

"  What  a  noble  sheet  of  water,"  ex- 
claimed Willoughton,  "  with  lawns  and 
woods  sloping  to  its  margin  and  reflected 
on  its  surface !" 

"  Yes,  Sir;  all  that  on  the  opposite  side 


GASTOX    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  27 

was  a  deer-park  then,  as  I  Ve  heard  from 
the  account  of  some  book,  except  that 
low  ground  further  on,  and  that  was  pas- 
ture for  cattle." 

"  For  cattle!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Simpson, 
— "  how  they  would  poach  such  ground  as 
that !" 

"  But  what  a  beautiful  picture  they 
helped  to  make  from  the  castle  windows 
here,"  said  Willoughton;  u  when,  on  a  sum- 
mer's noon,  they  lay  under  those  shades,  or 
stood  in  the  cool  waters  of  the  lake." 

"  Ay,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  "  to  such  as 
did  not  value  the  land." 

"  It  was  just  opposite  the  Pleasant,  yon- 
der," said  the  aged  historian. 

"  The  Pleasant  /" 

"  Yes,  Sir ;  if  you  look  this  way,  I  will 
tell  you  where  it  stood : — it  was  a  ban- 
queting-house  on  the  lake." 

"  O!  the  Plaisance!" 

"  It  stood  on  the  walls  there,  down  in 
c  2 


28  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

the  valley,  to  the  right  of  John  O'Gaunt's 
tower  here,  and  not  far  from  the  Swan 
Tower ;  but  it  is  so  dusk  now  you  can 
hardly  see  where  I  mean." 

Willoughton  inquired  where  the  Swan 
Tower  stood. 

"  Further  off,  a  good  way,  Sir ;  but 
there  is  nothing  of  it  to  be  seen  now.  It 
stood  at  the  corner  of  the  garden -wall, 
just  where  the  lake  came  up ;  but  there  is 
nothing  to  be  seen  of  that  garden  either 
now,  Sir,  though  we  know  the  place  where 
it  was.  Queen  Elizabeth  used  to  take 
great  delight  in  the  banqueting-house,  as 
I've  heard." 

"  It  was  pleasantly  seated ;"  observed 
Willoughton. 

"  Yes,  Sir ;  but  there  was  rare  feasting 
and  music  too,  I  reckon.  She  used  to  be 
fond  of  sitting  in  this  very  window,  too  !" 

"  How  do  you  know  all  this,  my  friend?" 

"  Why,  Sir,  the  place  is  called  Queen 
Elizabeth's  turret,  to  this  day,  because  she 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEYILLE.  29 

took  such  a  fancy  to  it ;  and  it  was  plea- 
sant enough  to  be  sure,  for  it  overlooked 
the  widest  part  of  the  lake  ; — this  bench  had 
velvet  trappings  enough  then,  I  warrant. "' 

"  I  have  no  pleasure  in  remembering 
Elizabeth  ;"  said  Willoughton,  as  he  turned 
to  look  for  his  friend. 

"  No ! — -not  in  remembering  the  wisest 
princess  that  ever  reigned  ?"  said  Mr- 
Simpson. 

"  No :  her  wisdom  partook  too  much  of 
craft,  and  her  policy  of  treachery  ;  and  her 
cruelty  to  poor  Mary  is  a  bloody  hand 
in  her  escutcheon,  that  will  for  ever  haunt 
the  memory  of  her." 

"  You  are  too  ardent, "  observed  Mr. 
Simpson  ;  "  much  may  be  said  on  her  con- 
duct on  that  head." 

"  She  inspires  me  only  with  aversion  and 
horror,"  replied  Willoughton. 

"  She  gives  other  people  the  horrors, 
too,"  said  the  villager. 

"  How  do  you  mean,  friend  ?" 


30  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

"  There  are  strange  stories  told,  Sir,  if 
one  could  but  believe  them  ; — there  are 
old  men  now  in  the  parish,  who  say  they 
have  seen  her  about  the  castle  here,  dressed 
in  a  great  ruff  about  her  neck,  just  as  she 
is  in  her  picture  ;  they  knew  her  by  that." 
Here  Mr.  Simpson,  giving  Willoughton 
a  look  of  sly  congratulation,  on  his  having 
met  with  a  person  of  taste  seemingly  so 
congenial  with  his  own,  burst  forth  into  a 
laugh,  or  rather  a  shout,  that  made  every 
echo  of  the  ruin  vocal,  his  friend  smile, 
and  the  old  man    stare;    who,   somewhat 

gravely,  proceeded 

"  They  say,  too,  she  has  been  seen  sit- 
ting there,  in  that  very  window,  when  there 
was  but  just  light  enough  to  see  her  by." 

"  A  ghost  in  a  ruff  and  farthingale !" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Simpson,  in  exultation ; — 
"  that  is,  surely,  the  very  perfection  of  pro- 
priety in  the  ghost-costume ;"  and  again 
the  roar  of  laughter  rolled  round  every 
turret  of  the  castle. 


GASTON    DE    BLOND  EVILL  E.  <?1 

"  Why  does  that  strike  you  as  so  ab- 
surd ?"  asked  Willoughton ;  "  this  is  only 
a  ghost  representing  the  familiar  image  of 
the  person  when  alive.  Can  it  be  more 
ridiculous  than  the  Scotch  plaid  for  the 
supernatural  being,  whom  we  call  a  witch  ? 
And  yet,  when  you  and  I  used  to  discuss 
the  taste  of  ghost-dresses,  you  did  not  ob- 
ject to  that  appearance;  but  justified  it,  as 
one  with  which  popular  superstition  was 
familiar." 

"Yes,"  replied  Simpson;  "but  though  the 
ruff  and  farthingale  accompany  our  idea  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  it  is  of  her,  as  a  living 
character,  not  in  that  of  her  apparition. " 

"  And  yet,"  rejoined  Willoughton  ;  "  if 
you  remain  in  this  ruin,  half  an  hour 
longer,  till  you  can  scarcely  distinguish 
the  walls,  you  will  feel  less  inclined  to 
laugh  at  Queen  Elizabeth's  ghost  in  a  ruff 
and  farthingale/' 

u  Perhaps  I  might,"  said  Mr.  Simpson, 
M  if  vou  had  not  let  me  so  much  into  the 


32  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

secret  of  effect  in  these  cases.  Yet  I  ques- 
tion whether  it  would  have  been  possible 
for  Elizabeth's  picture,  arrayed  in  that  ri- 
diculous court-dress,  supposing  it  actually 
to  appear,  to  extort  from  me  any  thing 
but  laughter." 

"  They  say,  Sir,"  said  the  aged  man, 
"  that  she  looked  solemn  and  stern  enough 
as  she  sat  in  that  window,  just  where  you 
do  now,  leaning  her  head  upon  her  hand, 
or  something  that  looked  like  one.  She 
sat  quite  still,  for  some  time,  and  old 
Taylor  sat  quite  still  looking  at  her,  for 
he  could  not  move  ; — but  when  she  rose 
up  and  turned  round,  and  made  a  mo- 
tion with  her  hand — thus — as  much  as  to 
say,  s  Go  about  your  business  ! '  he  thought 
he  should  have  dropped,  and  would  have 
gone  fast  enough  if  he  could." 

"  Ay,"  said  Mr.  Simpson  ;  "  there  was 
the  characteristical  in  manner,  as  well  as 
in  dress.     This  must  be  a  true  history  !" 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  33 

"  Well,  friend,"  said  Willoughton,  "  and 
what  followed  ?" 

ff  Why,  Sir,  then  she  went  down  this 
steep  place  you  now  stand  upon,  into  the 
hall  there,  where  he  could  not  have  gone, 
in  broad  day-light,  without  risk  of  his 
neck ;  she  sank  down,  as  it  were,  and  he 
lost  her  awhile,  it  was  so  dark ;  but  pre- 
sently he  saw  her,  all  on  a  sudden,  stand- 
ing in  that  door-way  there, — and  I  can 
almost  guess  I  see  her  there  now." 

"You  are  a  silly  old  man,'  said  Mr. 
Simpson ;  and  he  looked  immediately  to 
the  door. 

•'  You  would  not  like,"  said  Willough- 
ton, smiling,  "  to  inquire  minutely  into  the 
difference  between  purposely  avoiding  to 
look,  and  purposely  looking  in  the  midst 
of  this  story  ;"  but — turning  to  the  old 
man — "  what  next  ?" 

"  Why,    Sir,    she    stood    in   the    arch 
some  time  with  a  very  stern  look  ;  but  I 
C  5 


34  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

never  rightly  understood  what  became  of 
her.  Old  Taylor  said  she  passed  away 
like  a  cloud ;  but  then  afterwards  he  was 
not  sure  but  he  saw  her  again,  in  a  mi- 
nute or  two,  in  this  very  window." 

"  And  have  you  never  been  fortunate 
enough/'  said  Mr.  Simpson,  u  to  see  any 
of  those  sights  ?" 

"  No,  Sir,  no ;  I  hope  I  have  no  need 
of  them ;  though,  if  I  was  that  way 
given,  I  might  have  thought  /saw  things 
too  sometimes.  Once  by  Mortimer's  tower, 
down  in  the  tilt-yard,  I  as  good  as  thought 
I  saw  a  man  standing  with  a  mask  on  his 
face,  in  a  moonlight  night,  with  a  drawn 
sword  in  his  hand." 

"  That  tower,"  remarked  Willoughton, 
"  was  doubtless  named  after  Mortimer,  the 
paramour  of  the  infamous  Isabel  ?" 

"  They  say,  Sir,  some  king  was  once 
shut  up  there." 


GASTON    DE    BLONDKVILLE.  35 

%i  Ay,  Edward  the  Second,  for  a  short 
time." 

"  And  they  will  tell  you  a  power  of 
stories  of  what  was  to  be  seen  about  that 
tower,  before  it  was  pulled  down,  and 
after  too  ;  but  I  don't  believe  a  word  of 
them.  People  are  always  conjuring  up 
strange  tales  when  they  have  nothing 
better  to  do.  I  have  got  an  old  book  at 
home  full  of  them,  enough  to  make  one's 
hair  stand  on  end,  if  one  could  but  make 
it  all  thoroughly  out.  I  showed  it  to  Mr. 
Timothy,  the  school-master,  and  he  could 
hardly  make  it  out  neither ;  but  he  said 
it  was  no  matter,  for  it  was  full  of  no- 
thing but  nonsense.  He  read  me  some 
of  it,  and  I  could  not  get  it  out  of  my 
head  again  for  a  week." 

"  Ay,  it  met  with  a  thriving  soil," 
said  Mr.  Simpson,  "  it's  well  you  got  the 
nonsense   out  of  your  head  at    all.     But 


36  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE, 

how  happened  you  to  buy  a  book  in  a 
language  you  could  not  read  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  buy  it,  Sir ;  and,  as  to  the 
language,  I  could  understand  that  well 
enough,  but  I  could  not  read  the  letters  ; 
and  Timothy  himself  bungled  at  the  spel- 
ling." 

Willoughton  inquired  where  this  book 
was  met  with;  and  whether  he  could 
have  a  sight  of  it  ?" 

"  Why,  Sir,  it  was  dug  out  of  the 
ground,  where  an  old  chapel  once  stood, 
belonging  to  the  Priory  hard  by. 

"  O  !  I  remember,"  said  Willoughton  ; 
"  there  was  formerly  a  monastery  of  Black 
Canons  at  Kenil worth,  founded  by  Geoffry 
de  Clinton,  lord  chamberlain  to  the  first 
King  Henry,  and  the  founder  of  this  same 
castle  too  :  but  go  on." 

"  The  place  is  used  for  a  burial-ground 
still,"  resumed  the  old  villager  ;  "  and  it 
happened,   that   as  Guy,  our  sexton,  was 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEViLLE.  37 

one  day  going  to  dig  a  grave  there,  lie 
lighted  upon  a  coffin,  or  the  chest,  or 
whatever  it  was,  that  held  a  many  things 
hesides  this  strange  book." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Willoughton,  eagerly  ; 
u  let  us  hear  a  little  about  this." 

"  We  shall  not  get  to  Warwick  to- 
night," said  Mr.  Simpson,  gravely. 

"  Why,  Sir,  it  was  one  day  last  autumn, 
— no,  I  believe  it  was  as  late  as  November ; 
I  remember  it  had  rained  hard  all  morn- 
ing ;  but  whether  it  was  October  or  No- 
vember, I  cannot  be  sure." 

"  That,  I  should  suppose,  does  not  much 
signify,"  said  Mr.  Simpson. 

"Come,  now,"  said  Willoughton,  "  do  let 
him  be  as  circumstantial  as  he  pleases." 

"  Willingly,  willingly,  only  remember, 
we  are  not  to  sleep  at  Kenil worth." 

"  Well,  Sir,  I  cannot  be  sure  exactly  of 
the  time,  only  it  had  been  a  dismal  day ; 
but  the  rain  was  over,  when  old  Guv  came 


38  GASTON    DE    BL0XDEV1LLE. 

running  to  me  in  as  great  a  fright  as  ever 
I  saw  a  man,  and  said  he  had  found  some- 
thing in  the  ground,  he  could  not  tell  what, 
but  he  never  felt  any  thing  so  heavy  in  his 
life ;  he  could  not  move  it,  and  desired  I 
would  go  and  help  him  to  raise  it ;  and  he 
stared,  as  if  he  was  out  of  his  wits.  When 
I  heard  it  was  so  heavy,  I  thought  we 
might  as  well  have  my  son  to  help  us,  for 
he  was  a  stout  lad.  Guy  did  not  much 
like  this,  I  saw,  for  he  was  thinking  he 
should  find  a  treasure,  and  Guy  was  always 
a  close  one,  and  for  getting  as  much  as  he 
could ;  it  was  only  two  years  before  he 
got  his  money  raised  for  tolling ;  and  there 
is  not  one  in  the  parish  has  liked  him 
since.  However,  I  got  my  son  to  go  with 
me,  and  we  set  to  work,  without  saying  a 
word  to  any  one  ;  and  it  was  so  near  dark 
that  nobody  was  likely  to  see  us  in  that 
lonely  place." 

"  Well !  but  if  it  had  been  treasure,  it 


GASTON     DE    BLONDE  VILLE.  39 

would  have  belonged  to  the  Lord  of  the 
Manor,"  said  Mr.  Simpson. 

"  Yes,  Sir,  I  know  that  well  enough  ; 
but  you  shall  hear.  We  raised  it  out  of 
the  ground  at  last,  and  what  should  it  be 
but  an  old  oak  chest.  It  was  so  large,  a 
man  might  have  lain  down  in  it  at  full 
length;  but  what  helped  to  make  it  so 
heavy  was  the  iron  bands  that  held  it  to- 
gether, and  three  great  iron  locks,  that 
fastened  it.  Now,  as  the  place  where  it 
was  dug  up  was  the  east  end  of  the  church, 
Guy  took  it  into  his  head  it  contained 
church  plate,  that  had  been  put  there,  in 
troublesome  times,  by  the  monks  of  the 
priory.  If  you  had  but  seen  him !  he 
thought  his  fortune  was  made ;  he  threw 
away  his  spade,  and  cut  a  caper  as  high  as 
a  wall.  I  thought  myself  there  must  be 
something  worth  looking  at  o'the  inside, 
but  by  this  time  it  was  so  dark  we  could 
hardly  see  what  we  were  about ;  so  I  sent 


40  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

my  son  home  for  the  lantern,  and  then 
we  tried  with  old  Guy's  crow  to  get  the 
lid  open.  We  got  it  off  at  last  ;  and  what 
do  you  think,  Sir,  we  found  ?  Why,  no- 
thing but  old  parchments  ;  some  with  seals 
dangling  to  them,  and  some  old  books, 
dropping  to  pieces  with  the  worms,  though 
the  leaves  were  thick  enough,  too  :  at  the 
bottom  of  the  chest  was  a  great  heap  of 
dust.'' 

"Did  you  find  nothing  else?"  asked  Mr. 
Simpson,  fixing  his  eyes  on  him. 

"  No,  Sir,  nothing  else,"  said  the  old 
man,  with  a  little  hesitation  ;  "  nothing 
else,  except  an  old  staff,  with  a  large  head ; 
and  there  was  a  little  silver  on  that  and 
on  a  book  I  have  at  home." 

Mr.  Simpson  inquired  what  had  made 
the  chest  so  weighty. 

"  Why,  Sir,  it  was  made  of  solid  oak, 
six  inches  thick,  I  warrant,  and  had  a 
great  deal  of  iron  about  it.     I  took  a  fancy 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  41 

to  that  book,  though  I  could  not  read  it, 
for  I  coidd  not  make  out  the  letters ;  but 
there  is  some  pretty  pictures  on  the  leaves, 
and  the  colours  are  as  fresh  as  if  they  were 
just  painted  ;  and  some  of  the  great  letters 
are  done  all  over  with  gold  as  bright  as 
the  sun." 

"  A  manuscript,  illuminated  probably 
by  some  monk  of  the  priory,"  said  Wil- 
loughton  ;  "  can  I  see  it?" 

"Yes,  Sir,"  replied  the  old  man,  "I 
have  it  at  home ;  but  what  made  me 
wonder  most  was  to  see  it  look  so  fresh, 
after  it  had  lain  all  that  time  in  the 
ground;  to  be  sure  it  was  well  wrapped 
up  in  parchment,  and  the  trunk  was 
thick  enough,  for  that  matter;  but  some 
of  the  other  books  dropped  to  pieces  as 
soon  as  the  air  came  to  them." 

Willoughton  asked  what  had  been  done 
with  the  parchments  ;  adding,  to  his  com- 
panion, that  they  were  probably  the  leiger- 


42  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

book  and  some  other  muniments  of  the 
Priory,  hidden  when  the  terrors  of  Henry 
the  Eighth  first  prevailed  in  the  monas- 
teries, and  afterwards  pretended  to  be 
lost,  first  from  some  hope  of  their  future 
utility,  and  then  from  a  fear  of  avowing 
their  concealment. 

"  When  Guy,"  resumed  the  old  man, 
M  found  what  sort  of  treasure  he  had  got- 
ten, he  was  ready  to  throw  himself  into 
the  old  chest,  to  be  put  under  ground  with 
it  again  ;  but  I  said  there  was  no  need  of 
that;  so  we  took  out  some  of  the  best  of 
the  books,  but  none  of  the  others  had  pic- 
tures ;  and  Guy  took  the  old  staff,  and  then 
we  did  lay  the  trunk  in  the  earth  again." 

Willoughton  made  many  inquiries  con- 
cerning the  parchments  with  the  seals,  and 
the  seals  themselves,  and  whether  his  in- 
formant could  find  again  the  spot  where 
they  were  deposited. 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  43 

"  Come,  come,'1  said  Mr.  Simpson  ;  "  let 
us  leave  this  place ;  it  is  almost  dark." 

The  old  man  said  he  thought  he  could 
find  the  spot ;  but  that  would  be  of  no 
use ;  for  it  had  lain  so  deep  in  the  ground, 
that  there  had  been  depth  over  it  for 
graves,  and  it  was  now  beneath  them. 

Willoughton,  shocked  at  this  circum- 
stance, said  no  more  on  the  subject ;  but 
the  old  man  proceeded. 

"  Among  other  things  in  the  book,  Sir, 
is  a  view  of  this  old  hall.  I  should  never 
have  found  it  out  myself;  for  it  was  no 
more  like  what  it  is  now  than  nothing : 
but  Timothy  Crabb,  our  school-master, 
knew  it  at  once  by  this  very  window — and 
he  read  something  about  this  window,  too, 
— and  by  a  door-way  in  the  wall,  yonder." 

"  How  does  it  appear  in  the  drawing  ?" 
asked  Willoughton. 

"  Why,  Sir, — but  you  shall  see  the  book, 


44 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEV1LLE. 


if  you  like.  The  hall  had  a  high  roof, 
like  a  church  there,  and  a  gallery  ran 
all  along  the  bottom  of  it,  and  such  a 
chimney  !" — 

"  Ay  !  like  the  remains  of  what  we  see 
here  now,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Simpson. 

"  No,  Sir,  as  different  as  can  be." 

"O!  perhaps,"  turning  to  Willough- 
ton,  "  it  was  such  an  one  as  we  saw  at 
Penshurst ;  a  raised  hearth,  with  irons  to 
hold  wood,  in  the  middle  of  the  hall." 

"  No ;  that  style,"  observed  Willough- 
ton,  "  was  of  later  date  than  chimneys 
in  English  halls.  It  came  in,  I  apprehend, 
with  the  castellated  mansion,  of  which 
style  is  Penshurst,  the  more  ancient  part 
of  the  building  at  least.  In  the  hall  of  the 
older  castle,  a  chimney  sloped  back  from 
the  line  of  the  wall  into  the  thickness  of 
it,  and  let  out  the  smoke  through  a  loop 
above.  Thus,  the  raised  hearth,  on  which 
the   wood-fire  blazed,  projected    into  the 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  45 

chamber,  and  was  sometimes  overhung 
by  a  canopy  of  stone-work  supported  by 
pillars,  that  gave  it  a  resemblance  to  a 
gothic  porch,  such  as  adorn  some  of  our 
finest  cathedrals. "' 

"  Yes,  Sir,  this  in  the  book  looks  like 
something  like  a  church  porch  without 
the  sides,  the  top  comes  so  far  over  the 
hearth.  Then  all  down  the  hall  are  rows 
of  tables,  with  gentle-folk  and  ladies  sitting 
at  them,  and — " 

u  I  must  see  this  manuscript,"  inter- 
rupted Willoughton;  "it  apppears  to  be 
a  curious  one." 

"  Come,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  "  it  is  al- 
ready so  dark,  we  can  hardly  see  our  way 
hence.  There  is  scarce  a  gleam  of  light 
left  on  the  horizon." 

"  Xo,  Sir,  but  the  moon  is  rising  yon- 
der, and  some  gentry  have  a  fancy  to  see 
this  place  by  moon-light." 

"  O  !  we  have  seen  enough  of  it." 


46  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

"  I  recommend  you,"  said  Willoughton, 
"  to  avoid  looking,  just  at  this  moment, 
towards  the  door  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hall,  lest  you  should  see  the  stately  form 
of  Elizabeth  in  the  arch-way ;  I  had 
a  glimpse  of  something  like  her  just 
now ;  nay,  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I 
did  not  see  the  grave  physiognomy  of 
Leicester,  under  his  small  black  velvet  cap 
and  feather," 

"  We  shall  not  get  to  Warwick  to- 
night, said  Mr.  Simpson,  fretfully.  "  They 
talk  of  the  patience  of  a  painful  anti- 
quary ;  think  what  the  patience  of  his 
friend  must  be." 

"  I  have  not  the  honour  to  deserve  the 
former  title,"  said  Willoughton. 

"  Between  us,  we  approach  to  it ;  the 
painful  part  of  it,  you  will  allow,  belongs 
to  me." 

"  In  the  old  sense  of  the  word,"  said 
Willoughton,  "  you  do  not  claim  it ;  and, 
as  to  the  new  one,  your  jests  recompense 


GASTON     DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  47 

you  for  your  pain :  I  have  all  possible  in- 
clination to  deserve  the  title,  in    its  best 
sense ;    at    least    by   cherishing  those   in- 
quiries, which  make  us  intimate  with   the 
characters  and  habits   of  our  fellow  crea- 
tures in   past   ages,  which  show  them  to 
us  in  their  halls,    their  ceremonies,   their 
tournaments,    their    banquets,    their    do- 
mestic usages  and  even  in  their  monastic 
retirement.     These  picturesque  visions,  in 
which  the  imagination  so  much  delights, 
and    every    discovery,    however    remote, 
awaken  a  peculiar  kind  of  interest  and  of 
sentiment   no  less  delightful,   which  ren- 
der antiquity,  of  all  studies,  the  least  lia- 
ble   to    the    epithet  of  dry,    though    dull 
and    dry  people     so    liberally    bestow    it. 
Antiquity  is  one  of  the  favourite  regions 
of  poetry." 

"  Nay,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  "  your  woods 
and  your  meadows  are  the  region  for  that. 
Who  ever  thought  of  looking  for  a  muse 
in  an  old   castle  ?    But  come,  let  us  re- 


48  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

member,    that   we   are    on    the    road   for 
Warwick." 

"  Before  we  go,  my  friend  here  must 
show  me  his  old  manuscript ;  and  I  must 
see  this  fine  ruin  by  moonlight." 

"  By  moonlight !"  exclaimed  Simpson  ; 
"  would  you  really  stay  for  so  romantic  a 
purpose?  We  have  seen  it  already  by 
sun-light,  and  almost  by  no  light  at  all  ?." 

"  The  moon  is  rising,  now,  Sir,"  said 
the  old  man,  "  and  by  the  time  the  gen- 
tleman has  seen  the  book  it  will  be  risen 
high  enough  to  give  you  light  on  your 
journey." 

"  Meanwhile,  the  horses  will  have  no 
objection  to  a  little  corn,"  remarked  Wil- 
loughton ;  "  nor  the  postilion  to  a  little 
ale,  if  this  good  man  will  direct  him 
where  to  get  it.'" 

Mr.  Simpson  having  added,  that  he  too 
should  like  a  little  Warwickshire  ale,  the 
old  man  replied,  "  The  ale  they  sell  is  not 


m 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  49 

much  to  brag  on  ;  but,  if  you  please,  gen- 
tlemen, I  will  direct  the  lad  where  he  and 
the  horses  may  rest  themselves,  and,  if 
you  will  step  with  me,  you  can  taste  some 
of  my  home-brewed,  and  see  the  book  at 
the  same  time." 

The  travellers  assented,  and  their  con- 
ductor, after  having  directed  the  posti- 
lion to  a  house,  accompanied  them  to  his 
cottage,  where  he  produced  the  desired 
manuscript.  It  was  written  on  vellum,  and 
richly  illuminated,  and  purported  to  be  an 
account  of  what  passed  at  Kenilworth, 
when  Henry  the  Third  there  kept  the  feast 
of  Saint  Michael,  and  of  some  wonderful 
accident  that  there  befel. 

"  There  is  a  title-page  written  almost 
in  the  form  of  a  triangle,"  said  Willough- 
ton,  "  and  that  about  as  closely  as  if  it 
*were  printed.  The  date,  which  forms  the 
ftpex    of  the  reversed  triangle,    I  cannot 

VOL.    I.  D 


50  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

wholly  make  out,  but  it  is  twelve  hundred 
and  something." 

At  the  heads  of  chapters  and  sometimes 
on  the  broad  margins,  there  were  made 
drawings  of  parts  of  Kenilworth  Castle,  as 
it  had  appeared  in  the  time  of  Henry  pro- 
bably, with  some  of  the  scenes  which  had 
there  passed,  and  sometimes  with  single 
portraits  of  the  chief  persons  engaged  in 
them.  These  gave  vivid  ideas  of  the  cus- 
toms and  manners  of  that  period,  and  were 
traced,  with  more  knowledge  of  perspec- 
tive and  more  attention  to  proportion,  than 
Wilioughton  expected.  Among  them  was 
a  procession  of  knights  and  ladies,  led  by 
numerous  harpers,  returning  from  the 
tilt-yard  to  the  great  hall,  which  showed  a 
high  sloping  roof,  while  the  windows  be- 
low, at  a  considerable  elevation  from  the 
ground,  had  round-headed  arches,  instead 
of  pointed  ones.  The  door-way,  leading 
into  it,  accorded  with  the  place  where  one 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  51 

still  appears;  but  the  arch  was  differently 
constructed,  and  the  receding  mouldings 
seemed  to  have  been  ornamented  with 
chevron  work,  or  zigzag,  instead  of  the 
elegant  vine  now  sculptured  there,  which 
latter  he  had  no  hesitation  in  assigning  to 
the  time  of  Leicester. 

Another  drawing  gave  an  inside  view  of 
the  hall,  as  mentioned  by  the  old  man.  The 
roof  was  of  great  height,  open  to  the  rafters, 
and  with  pendent  beams  below,  formed 
into  arches,  ornamented  with  inverted 
pinnacles,  nicely  carved.  Another  drawing 
gave  the  inside  of  a  chapel,  of  which  there 
are  no  longer  any  remains  at  Kenilworth. 

The  original  style  of  the  building  ap- 
peared very  ancient,  but  this  was  mixed 
with  one  more  light  and  elegant,  like  that 
of  the  pointed  arches  of  the  windows ;  and 
Willoughton  conjectured  this  improvement 
to  have  been  made  by  Henry  the  Third, 
who  is  known  to  have  repaired  the  chapel 
D  2 


52  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

of  the  castle  for  his  own  use,  during  his 
occasional  residence  there. 

There  was  a  representation  of  a  mar- 
riage ceremony  in  celebration  at  the  altar, 
where  a  numerous  assemblage  of  dignified 
persons  were  arranged  in  state.  A  king 
was  giving  the  hand  of  the  bride  to  a 
young  man,  who  was  decorated  with  many 
military  insignia,  but  who  was  so  far  from 
receiving  the  gift  with  joy,  that  he  appear- 
ed to  be  struck  with  consternation,  while 
the  lady,  by  her  attitude,  seemed  to  be 
fainting, 

In  the  margin  was  a  portrait  of  a  king 
robed  and  wearing  a  crown  of  gold,  which 
seemed  intended  for  Henry  the  Third,  to 
whose  statue  in  brass,  in  his  monument  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  it  bore  a  considerable 
resemblance. 

At  the  head  of  another  chapter  was  an 
inside  view  of  a  tower,  where  a  man  was 
dieting  alone  near  a  lamp,      In  the  back. 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  53 

ground  a  face  appeared  at  the  grate.  The 
same  chamber  was  represented  afterwards, 
with  a  man  stretched  upon  a  low  pallet,  but 
whether  asleep,  or  dead,  was  not  expressed 
by  the  drawing.  The  lamp  had  gone  out, 
and,  instead  of  a  face  at  the  grate,  the 
moon  appeared  through  a  window  beyond, 
and  threw  a  pale  light  on  the  couch. 

Another  drawing  gave  a  view  of  a  cha- 
pel, or  hall ;  Willoughton  was  not  certain 
which  :  there  was,  however,  something  like 
an  altar  at  the  farthest  end,  near  which 
stood  a  figure  alone,  the  face  concealed  in 
a  vizor,  the  left  arm,  uplifted,  held  a  shield, 
the  right  a  lance,  but  the  feet  were  in  a 
position  of  rest,  though  another  figure  near 
a  door  was  departing,  as  if  with  the  fear 
of  being  pursued,  his  hands  outstretched, 
and  his  face  turned  back  over  his  shoulder. 
There,  too,  the  moon  appeared  through  a 
window,  and  the  light  fell  upon  the  lifted 
shield. 


54  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLK. 

While  Wiiloughton  was  musing  what 
this  could  mean,  the  old  man,  looking 
upon  the  leaf,  said,  "  Timothy  Crabb,  Sir, 
maintains  this  is  a  picture  of  the  Priory- 
Chapel,  he  is  sure,  as  it  stood  formerly.  I 
should  never  have  found  it  out  myself, 
there  is  so  little  left  of  the  chapel ;  but 
Tim  makes  it  all  out  fine  enough." 

"Does  he  tell  you  what  that  figure 
means  ?" 

"  Not  as  I  remember,  Sir  ;  but  the  book 
tells  that,  I  reckon." 

Wiiloughton  turned  over  the  leaves  near 
the  drawing ;  the  language,  the  orthogra- 
phy and  the  characters  were  all  so  an- 
cient, that  he  hesitated  much.  What  he  did 
make  out,  however,  fixed  his  attention  so 
deeply,  that  his  friend  lost  the  small  re- 
mains of  his  patience,  and  declared  he 
would  set  off  without  him.  Wiiloughton 
then  told  his  humble  host,  that,  if  he  was 
willing  to  part  with  the  manuscript,  he  was 
disposed  to  give  him  his  own  price  for  it. 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  55 

u  Why,  Sir,  I  like  to  look  at  the  pictures 
sometimes,  and  the  gold  is  so  bright  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  see  it ;  but  the  book  for  other 
matters  is  not  of  much  value  to  me, 
though  it  may  be  to  other  people,  seeing 
as  I  can't  make  it  out ;  and,  for  that  mat- 
ter, if  I  could,  I  do  not  know  any  good  it 
would  do ;  for,  what  Tim  did  read  made 
me  as  foolish  almost  as  old  John,  and  afraid 
to  go  near  the  castle,  for  some  time,  after 
dark,  though  I  was  always  counted  a  little 
more  sensible  than  some.  But  I  see  no 
good  in  such  things,  not  I." 

"  You  are  a  sensible  fellow,"  said  Mr. 
Simpson,  "  and  I  wish  my  friend  here 
had  a  little  less  curiosity,  and  a  little  more 
such  wit  as  yours.  And  now,  Harry,  do 
leave  the  book  and  come  away." 

"  No,  I  shall  first  console  myself  for  the 
mortification  of  your  compliments.  What 
shall  I  give  you  for  the  book,  my  friend  ?" 

"  Why,  Sii',  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure ; 
I  don't  know  the    value    of  such    things. 


56  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

Tim  Crabb  said  it  might  be  worth  its 
weight  in  gold  for  aught  he  knew  ;  but  I 
leave  it,  Sir,  to  your  generosity." 

"  It  is  well  you  do  not  leave  it  to 
mine,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  "  for  I  should 
make  a  low  reckoning  of  it." 

The  sum  Willoughton  offered  accorded 
with  his  own  estimation  of  so  curious  a 
relick,  rather  than  with  the  expectation  of 
his  host,  who  heard  it  with  exclamations  of 
thankfulness  ;  while  Mr.  Simpson  express- 
ed not  merely  surprise  but  reprehension, 
and  the  vulgar  proverb  of  "  Fools  and  their 
money — "  was  nearly  audible  on  his  lips. 

"  What  other  books  did  you  find  in 
the  same  place  ?"  asked  Willoughton. 

"  Ah !  bless  you,  Sir,"  replied  the  an- 
cient villager,  "  I  wish  I  had  a  score  of 
them." 

"  Well  you  may,  my  friend,  if  they 
would  fetch  you  such  a  price  as  this  ! "  was 
the  ready  remark  of  Mr.  Simpson. 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  57 

"  It  is  his  honour's  own  generosity,  Sir, 
and  I  suppose  he  thinks  the  book  worth 
the  money,  or  he  would  not  give  it." 

"  Come,  Harry,"  continued  Simpson, 
"  here  has  been  folly  enough  for  once  ;  let 
us  be  gone." 

"  You  are  sure  you  have  no  other  book 
like  this?"  inquired  Willoughton. 

"  There  is  another  or  two,  that  do  still 
hold  together,  I  think,"  said  the  old  man  ; 
"  They  have  got  no  pictures  ;  but  then  they 
have  the  same  kind  of  letters,  that  cannot 
be  understood."  —  He  went  for  them. 

"  You  will  tempt  the  man  to  steal  the 
parish-register,  and  offer  it  to  you  as  a 
curious  relick,"  said  Mr.  Simpson  ;  "  and 
indeed  it  will  deserve  your  money  letter 
than  this." 

The    old   man    returned   with   a    small 

quarto,  printed  in  black  letter  and  bound 

in  real  boards,  which  had   been  guarded 

at  the  comers  with  brass ;  the  marks  of 

d5 


58  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE, 

clasps    remained    on    it   and   those   of  a 
lozenge  in  the  centre  of  each  board. 

"  Though  this  is  of  later  date,  much 
later  date,  than  the  manuscript,"  said 
Willoughton,  "  I  see  it  is  one  of  the  ear- 
liest hooks  that  came  from  the  press  in 
England,  It  appears  also  by  its  contents, 
to  have  been  intended  to  assist  the  pur- 
poses of  the  monks  of  that  dark  age.'1 

"  A  Boke  of  Sprites  !"  exclaimed  Simp- 
son, with  a  shout  of  exultation  :  "  a  boke 
of  sprites,  with  the  signs  they  may  be 
known  by,  and  divers  rules  to  keep  you 
from  harm :  the  like  was  never  known 
before!" 

"  Excellent !  excellent ! "  said  Willough- 
ton ;  "  and  here  is  another  black-letter 
volume.  Well,  friend*  without  looking 
further,  what  shall  I  give  you  for 
them?" 

"This  is  past  endurance ! "  said  Mr 
Simpson  ;  "  my  patience  is  out !" 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  59 

M  O  Sir !  I  will  give  you  these  into  the 
bargain,"  said  the  old  man,  smiling;  an 
offer  which  Willoughton  would  not  accept, 
who  paid  the  old  man  what  he  thought 
they  were  worth.  Mr.  Simpson,  then  tak- 
ing his  friend  by  the  arm,  desired  his  host 
to  direct  them  to  the  chaise. 

u  I  must  see  the  ruin  by  moonlight,'' 
said  Willoughton ;  "  but  I  will  not  detain 
you  many  minutes." 

"  No,  no ;  you  will  see  the  towers  of 
Warwick  by  moonlight;  which  will  be 
much  finer." 

<k  My  good  friend  here,"  said  Willough- 
ton, "  will  order  the  chaise  round  to  the 
gate  where  it  set  us  down ;  and,  by  the 
time  it  arrives,  I  shall  have  seen  what  I 
wish  to  see." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  with  an 
air  of  resignation  ;  "  one  is  sure  of  you 
when  a  journey  is  to  be  begun ;  but  never 
when  one  would  end,  or  hasten  it.     I  have 


60  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

not  forgotten  our  midnight  rambles  about 
Stonehenge  !  Doubtless  we  were  the  first 
human  beings,  who  had  appeared  there, 
at  such  an  hour,  for  many  centuries ;  and 
what  astonished  me  afterwards,  more  than 
any  thing  I  saw,  was,  that  I  myself  should 
have  been  conjured  there  at  such  an  unsea- 
sonable hour ;  I,  whose  brain  never  hatched 
any  of  those  '  high  and  unimaginable  fanta- 
sies,' as  your  poet  Gray  calls  them,  '  which 
distract  the  heads  of  some  of  his  readers." 

"  Ay !  those  shadows  of  the  moon  at 
full,"  said  Willoughton  laughing,  as  they 
walked  towards  the  ruin,  his  friend  re- 
monstrating with  him  on  the  imprudence 
of  this  passion  for  antiquities  and  on  his 
credulity.  "And  can  you  really  hold," 
said  he,  "  that  these  books  were  found  in 
the  manner  related ;  and  that  any  of 
them,  especially  the  '  Boke  of  Sprites,'  ever 
belonged  to  the  library  of  the  priory  ?" 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  61 

•  It  does   not  seem   probable,"   replied 
Willoughton,   "that  the   old  man  should 
have  invented  the  story  he  has  related  of 
the  discovery  of  them  ;  but,  be  that  as  it 
may,  the  books  themselves  announce  their 
own  genuine   antiquity.     The  manuscript 
is   laboriously  illuminated,    and  it  is  well 
known,    that    such    works    were    chiefly 
performed   by  the   inhabitants    of  monas- 
teries.     The  Boke  of   Sprites    even  was 
likely    to   have    served    the    purposes    of 
the  monks.     We  know  that  the  libraries 
of  monasteries  contained   a  most  hetero- 
geneous assemblage  :  Ovid,  the  Romance 
of  Charlemagne,    Guy  of  Warwick,    and 
the  Rimes    of   Robin    Hood,    have    been 
found    on    the    shelf  with    Homilies,   and 
other  books ;  which,  although  they  might 
be  tinged  with  the  corruptions  of  the  Pa- 
pal school,   ought   not  to  have  had  such 
companions.    You  may  recollect,  that  War- 


b#  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

ton,  in  the  interesting  sketches  of  ancient 
manners  which  he  gives  in  his  History  of 
English  Poetry,  mentions  this  very  fully  ; 
and  that,  among  others,  the  library  of 
Peterborough  contained  'Amys  and  Am- 
dion,'  'Sir  Tristram  Merlin's  Prophecies,' 
and  the  '  Destruction  of  Troy  :'  and  books 
of  this  sort  were  not  only  copied,  but  often 
invented  by  the  monks,  sometimes  for  their 
amusement,  sometimes  for  worse  purposes." 

"  One  of  the  old  books  you  have  relates 
to  their  castle,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Simpson, 
looking  up  at  the  shadowy  masses  ;  which, 
shown  thus  faintly  by  the  rising  moon, 
seemed  more  majestic  than  before. 

"  Yes,  and  I  perceive,"  continued  Wil- 
loughton,  "  that  even  you  feel  a  curiosity 
to  know  what  may  have  passed  so  many 
ages  back,  on  the  spot  we  now  stand  upon." 

"Why,"  acknowledged  Simpson,  "  when 
one  looks  up  at  the  very  walls  now  crumb- 
ling into  ruin,  that  were  once  so  magnifi- 


GASTON    BE    BLONDEVILLE  6$ 

cent,  and  that  inclosed  beings  with  passions 
as  warm  as  our  own — beings,  who  have  so 
long  since  vanished  from  the  earth,  one  can- 
not help  wishing  to  know  a  little  of  their 
history  and  of  the  scenes  they  witnessed  ; 
but,  for  your  legend,  I  fear  to  trust  it." 

"  It  speaks  of  the  times  of  Henry  the 
Third,"  said  Willoughton,  "  those  were 
lawless  enough  to  permit  many  adven- 
tures ;  and,  if  the  citizens  of  London  were 
then  robbed  in  the  streets  even  at  noon- 
day, what  could  travellers  in  the  forest 
of  Arden  expect?  But  this  Manuscript 
seems  to  tell  of  princely  feasts  given  in 
the  castle,  and  of  adventures  passing  in 
the  presence  of  the  Court." 

"  Ay,  if  one  could  but  believe  them." 
"  A  great  part  of  the  castle,"  pursued 
Willoughton,  "  which  then  existed,  is  now 
gone ;  and  much  that  we  look  at,  stands 
in  its  place ;  but  that  noble  hall,  and 
Caesar's   tower   and  several  other  towers, 


64  GASTON    DB    BLOND  EVILLE. 

such  as  those  where  the  moonlight  falls, 
beheld  the  very  court  of  Henry  the  Third, 
ay,  and  Montfort,  on  whom  he  had  be- 
stowed Kenilworth,  and  who  added  in- 
gratitude to  treason,  by  holding  the  for- 
tress against  his  benefactor  and  liege  lord." 
They  stood  for  some  minutes  in  silence, 
looking  up  at  the  ruin  and  listening,  as  the 
breeze  rushed  by,  to  the  shivering  of  the 
ivy,  that  overhung  it, — all  the  shining  leaves 
trembling  in  the  moonlight.  The  pauses 
of  solemn  stillness,  that  followed  these 
sighings  of  the  air  among  the  old  branches, 
were  very  solemn,  and  the  sound  itself — 
so  still,  uncertain,  and  sudden,  Willoughton 
could  have  fancied  to  have  been  the  warn- 
ing murmurs  of  one,  who,  in  his  mortal 
state,  had  lived  within  these  walls,  and  now 
haunted  the  scene  where  it  had  once  re- 
velled, or,  perhaps,  suffered.  It  seemed  like 
a  voice  imperfectly  uttering  forth  some  dark 
prophecy,  and  telling  of  the  illusion  of  life 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  65 

and  the  certainty  of  death.  To  Willough- 
ton's  recollection  this  spectacle  of  the  re- 
mains of  ages  past,  now  glimmering  under 
the  soft  shadows  of  moonlight,  brought 
those  touching  lines  of  Beattie — 

"  Hail,  awful  scenes,  that  calm  the  troubled  breast, 
And  woo  the  weary  to  profound  repose, 
Can  passion's  wildest  uproar  lull  to  rest, 
And  whisper  comfort  to  the  man  of  woes." 

Willoughton  stood  so  wrapt,  that  he 
heard  not  his  friend's  inquiry,  whether  he 
meant  to  pass  a  night  at  Kenilworth,  as 
a  sequel  to  a  former  one  at  Stonehenge ; 
nor  was  he  immediately  aware  of  the 
nearer  approach  of  his  aged  conductor, 
who  said,  in  a  tone  somewhat  tremulous, 
"  You  are  now  on  the  very  spot,  Sir,  where 
Mortimer's  tower  stood ;  it  was  the  main 
entrance  to  the  castle,  when  there  was  a 
lake,  and  it  opened  from  the  tilt-yard,  that 
ran  along  the  end  of  the  water  into  the 
lower  court :  you  see,  Sir,  it  was  quite  on 


66  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

the  opposite  side  of  the  castle  from  Lord 
Leicester's  great  gate." 

Willoughton  surveyed  the  place,  but  not 
a  vestige  of  the  building  remained.  "  Here 
then,"  said  he,  "  the  unhappy  Edward  the 
Second  was,  for  a  while,  imprisoned,  before 
he  was  removed  to  Corfe  and  Berkeley 
Castles,  his  last  abodes." 

"  If  you  please,  Sir,''  said  the  man,  "  the 
chaise  is  at  the  gate ;  and,  if  you  will  take 
my  advice,  you  will  not  stay  here  long,  for 
I  cannot  say  I  like  it  myself ;  I  shall  begin 
to  think  I  see  that  strange  figure  again, 
and  I  had  rather  not." 

"  Well,  let  us  go,"  said  Mr.  Simpson, 
"  or  I  shall  begin  to  fancy  something  of 
the  same  sort,  too.  What  did  you  say,  it 
had  a  mask  on  its  face  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,  and  a  drawn  sword  in  its 
hand ;  but  I  don't  like  the  place,  Sir,  let 
us  go." 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  6? 

*  Ay,  ay,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  "  let  us  go  ; 
we — we — we    shall  not  get  to  Warwick 

to-night." 

A  laugh  from  his  friend,  which  he  too 
well  understood,  both  vexed  and  ashamed 
him.  "  I  did  not  think  it  possible,"  said 
he,  "  that  I  could  have  yielded  to  the 
contagion  of  this  folly  thus ;  remember, 
however,  it  is  not  Elizabeth  in  her  ruff 
and  farthingale,  that  I  fear,  nor  any  thing 
else  distinctly." 

Willoughton  laughed  again  triumphant- 
ly. "  Better  and  better  ;  your  feelings  are 
true  to  my  arguments,  in  spite  of  your 
own.  I  desire  no  farther  proof  of  the  ef- 
fects of  time  and  circumstances — of  soli- 
tude and  obscurity  on  the  imagination." 

As  they  passed  by  Caesar's  tower,  and 
inquired  where  the  line  of  the  castle-ditch 
had  been  traced,  he  observed,  that  proba- 
bly the  chief  entrance  had  at  first  been 


68  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

over  a  draw-bridge  to  that  tower,  though 
now  no  sign  of  it  could  be  distinguished. 

When  the  travellers  were  once  more  seat- 
ed in  the  chaise,  Mr.  Simpson  betook  him- 
self to  sleep ;  while,  on  their  journey  of  four 
miles  through  the  checkered  moonlight 
of  woody  lanes  to  Warwick,  Willoughton 
did  not  lament  the  silence  of  his  friend, 
which  left  him  to  the  quiet  musings  of  his 
own  mind,  and  to  the  peace  of  nature,  re- 
posing under  this  soft  and  beautiful  shade. 
The  air  was  so  still  that  scarcely  a  leaf 
trembled  of  the  lofty  boughs  that  oversha- 
dowed the  road ;  and  when  the  postilion 
stopped  to  make  some  alteration  of  the 
harness,  the  breathing  of  the  horses  alone 
was  heard  through  all  this  scene  of  night. 

There  is  a  peace  of  the  spirits,  which  has 
surely  somewhat  holy  in  it.  Such  is  the 
calmness  which  the  view  of  a  midsummer- 
dawn  communicates,  or  that  of  moonlight 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  69 

on  woods  and  green  plains  ;  and  such  Wil- 
loughton  experienced  during  this  short 
ride,  till  he  drew  near  Warwick,  wThen  the 
beautiful  towers  of  Saint  Mary's  appear- 
ed on  the  right,  and  the  more  lofty  and 
distant  ones  of  the  castle  on  the  left  of 
the  perspective ;  and  these  awakened  the 
stronger  interest  of  expectation. 

Having  reached  the  inn,  and  Mr.  Simp- 
son, late  as  it  was,  having  ordered  a  good 
supper,  they  walked  out  to  take  a  view 
of  the  castle.  Finding  that,  at  this  hour, 
they  could  not  gain  admittance  by  the 
porter's  gate,  they  went  to  the  bridge  over 
the  Avon,  on  the  outside  of  the  town,  and 
thence  had  a  fine  retrospect  of  the  castle, 
with  all  its  towers  crowning  the  high, 
woody  bank  of  that  peaceful  and  classic 
stream.  One  vast,  round  tower  of  most 
warlike  .air,  looking  down  upon  the  preci- 
pice, delighted  Willoughton  more  than  nny 


70  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

other.  A  part  of  the  edifice,  repaired  and 
adorned  in  the  time  of  James  the  First, 
containing  the  state  rooms,  which  run  in  a 
long  line  upon  the  steep,  was  not  in  har- 
mony with  this  tower,  and  gave  very  dif- 
ferent ideas  of  the  character  and  man- 
ners of  the  respective  ages  to  which  they 
belonged.  The  moonlight  touched  this 
tower  with  a  fine  solemnity,  and  felPon 
the  tops  of  the  dark  cedars  and  other  trees, 
that  clothe  the  precipice,  as  it  glanced  to 
Shakspeare's  stream  below,  where  it  rested 
in  all  its  silver  radiance,  as  if  pleased  to 
claim  it  for  its  home. 

Willoughton  leaned  over  the  bridge,  and 
looked  upon  the  scene  in  silence.  The 
brightness  of  the  river,  the  dark,  clear 
shade  of  the  woods,  reflected  on  its  mar- 
gin and  rising  with  majesty  up  the  steep, 
with  the  grey  towers,  in  softened  light, 
crowning  all,  formed  a  harmony  of  tints 
and  of  objects  such  as  he  had  not  often 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  71 

seen,  and  which  recalled  to  him  that 
state  of  holy  peace  he  had  so  lately  ex- 
perienced. 

Amidst  the  stillness  of  this  scene,  there 
arose  a  strain,  as  if  commanded  by  Shaks- 
peare's  wand,  and  to  which  his  words  might 
have  been  applied.  u  O  !  it  came  o'er  mine 
ear,  like  the  sweet  south,  that  breathes 
upon  a  bank  of  violets,"  It  was  the  music 
of  French-horns,  sweetened  by  distance  and 
by  the  water,  over  which  it  passed,  accom- 
panied by  a  few  voices  addressing  the  river 
and  celebrating  the  bard  in  the  well-known 
song  of  Garrick  and  Arne, — "  Thou  soft- 
flowing  Avon ! " 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  beauty  of 
some  of  the  cadences,  prolonged  by  the 
deep,  mellow  tones  of  the  horns,  or  of  the 
chorus,  and  of  the  close,  that  gave  these 
words  : — 

"  The  fairies  by  moonlight  dance  round  the  green 
bed, 
For,  hallow'd  the  turf  is,  that  pillows  his  head." 


72  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

They  brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of 
Willoughton,  and  drew  from  him  a  deep 
sigh  long  after  silence  had  returned. 

Mr.  Simpson  looked  about  to  discover 
whence  this  charming  tribute  to  the  me- 
mory of  the  loved  poet  came,  and  perceived 
two  little  boats  stealing  along  the  margin 
of  the  stream,  under  shadow  of  the  bank 
that  rose  to  the  castle.  The  white  awning 
of  the  first  betrayed  it  to  his  eye,  before  it 
emerged  on  the  moonlight ;  and  now  the 
measured  trampling  of  the  oars  told  its 
departing  course  upon  the  waters,  till 
once  again  that  chorus  died  along  the  air, 
and  then  the  steps  of  the  oars  were  heard 
no  more. 

The  travellers  remained  for  some  mo- 
ments, as  if  spell-bound,  in  thoughtful 
silence ;  and  they  left  this  enchanting 
scene,  and  returned  to  their  inn,  without 
having  uttered  a  word.     This  was  an  un- 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  73 

usual  mood  with  Mr.  Simpson  ;  he  had 
caught  it  from  his  companion,  rather  than 
from  the  scene ;  and  now,  on  the  entrance 
of  supper,  he  rejoiced  to  get  rid  of  it,  and 
to  return  to  the  more  substantial  pleasures 
of  this  world. 

Willoughton,  when  he  had  retired  to  his 
chamber,  and  had,  as  was  his  custom,  looked 
out  upon  the  night,  now  overcast  with  gloo- 
my clouds,  sat  down  to  examine  his  manu- 
scripts, instead  of  seeking  repose.  Bound 
up  with  that  of  the  "  Trew  Chronique," 
was  another,  entitled  "  A  Trew  Historie  of 
two  Mynstrells,  that  came  by  night  to  the 
Priory  of  Saint  Margaret,  and  what  they 
disclosed,  and  what  one  in  the  convent  by 
his  art,  proved  them  to  bee."  This  "  Trew 
Historie"  was  more  difficult  to  be  deci- 
phered than  the  "  Trew  Chronique,"  and 
Willoughton  left  it  for  the  present,  and 
took  the  "  Boke  of  Sprites." 

VOL.    I.  E 


74  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

As  he  turned  over  the  leaves,  curious  to 
see  the  thraldom  of  superstition  to  which 
the  peolpe  of  a  remote  age  were  liable,  he 
often  smiled  at  the  artless  absurdities  he 
discovered,  the  clumsy  inventions  practised 
upon  the  fears  of  the  ignorant  by  the  ve- 
nality of  the  monks.  Yet  he  sometimes 
found  his  attention  seized,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, by  the  marvellous  narratives  before 
him  ;  till,  at  length,  he  began  to  feel  that 
he  was  alone,  to  recollect  that  it  was  past 
midnight,  to  observe  that  all  around  him 
was  still  as  death  ;  and  gradually  to  think 
he  might  as  well  lay  aside  the  "  Boke 
of  Sprites"  till  day-light  should  return 
and  the  world  again  sound  busily  around 
him. 

He  did  so,  and  again  took  the  "  Trew 
Chronique,"  desirous  of  ending  his  long- 
day,  with  some  new  traits  of  an  age  so 
distant  from  his  own   and  of  the  stvle,  in 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  75 

which  they  might  be  shadowed  forth.  The 
mere  spelling  did  not  render  this  so  diffi- 
cult, as  the  character  in  which  it  was  writ- 
ten, with  its  abundance  of  abbreviations 
and  contractions. 

The  following  is  a  modernized  copy, 
which  he  afterwards  wrote  out  for  the 
amusement  of  a  friend,  who  was  fond  of 
the  subjects  it  touched  upon,  but  had 
not  industry  enough  to  work  his  way 
through  the  obstructions  of  the  original. 
In  this  copy,  while  Willoughton  endea- 
voured to  preserve  somewhat  of  the  air  of 
the  old  style,  without  its  dryness,  he  was 
often  compelled  to  regret,  that  much  of  the 
effect  of  the  story  was  lost,  with  the  sim- 
plicity, brevity  and  quaintness  of  the  an- 
cient manner.  However,  he  often  retained 
the  old  words,  where  they  did  not  seem  to 
form  too  glaring  a  contrast  with  the  mo- 
dern style,  and,  now  and  then,  somewhat 
e  2 


76  GASTON    DE    BLOKDEVTLLE. 

of  the  quaintness  of  the  original,  the  title 
of  which  ran  thus  : — 

Conteumxge  a  treto  tfjromciue  of  foijat  pa^sictr  at 
Btlltngtoorti),  in  ffrfcenn,  tot)eu  <©ur  J*>oberen 
£ovfc,  tfje  %»n&>  kept  tt)er  $te  fest  of 
J?en$t  fHtriiei ;  fotti)  ne  marbenlous 
accftent,  tt)at  tljct  btfcl,  at  ti;e  £0= 
lempntesa^ion  of  tt)c  marriage 
of  4§a$ton  tie  23lonttcutUe. 
rait!)  tftoerS  tfjtngs,  cu* 
rtouS  to  be  fenoion, 
tfjercunto  purtamv 
tng.  EHttf)  an 
account  of  tf)e 
grcteCurnei), 
tijer  fjcXtr 
tntfjc 

MCCLVI. 

Cijangetf  out  of  tfje  Gorman  tongue 

33j>  (^rpmbaltJ,  tfSonk  of  &zn\t  $larie 

priori  in  &(Utngfoortf). 


THE  FIRST  DAY. 


THE  FIRST  DAY. 

At  the  head  of  this  chapter  was  a  drawing,  of 
the  King  and  Queen,  with  their  train,  passing  under 
the  towers  of  Kenilworth.  Near  the  King  rode  a 
young  knight  of  a  very  spirited  air  ;  in  one  hand  he 
held  his  cap,  bending  towards  the  King,  who  seemed 
to  be  speaking  to  him,  and  with  the  other  he  reined 
in  his  fiery  courser.  At  some  distance,  was  a  man 
pressing  through  the  crowd,  with  eager  gesticulation 
and  a  wild  countenance,  towards  the  King.  The 
royal  banner,  on  the  tower  above,  was  tinged  by  the 
setting  sun,  and  the  arms  and  caps  of  the  soldiers 
on  the  battlement  there  glistened  with  the  rays. 
The  cap  of  one  of  these,  who,  as  if  to  obtain  a  longer 
view  of  the  King,  appeared  to  have  stretched  too 
far  forward,  was  falling  on  the  multitude  below; 
some  of  whom  were  laughing. 


FIRST  DAY. 


It  was  at  the  feast  of  Saint  Michel, 
that  King  Henry,  the  third  of  his  name, 
with  his  Queen  and  sundrie  of  the  nobles 
of  the  realm  and  a  marvellous  train  of 
estates  and  gentils,  came  to  keep  court  in 
Ardenn,  at  his  castle  of  Kenilworth.  The 
day  was  drawing  to  an  end  ere  they  ar- 
rived :  and  it  was  a  goodly  sight  to  see 
this  noble  company  coming  over  the  fo- 
rest, till  then  so  lonesome ;  and  the  last 
light  of  this  day's  sun  glittering  upon  the 
helmets  and  lances  of  the  King's  guard ; 
likewise   on   the   gorgeous   apparelling  of 


80  GASTON    DE    ELONDEVILLE* 

their  horses  and  trumpets,  with  their  ban- 
ners unrolled,  that  went  before  his  grace  ; 
also  on  the  litters  of  the  Queen,  covered 
with  cloth  of  gold  and  with  tapestry  of 
rich  colours,  brought  from  her  own  land 
beyond  the  sea. 

This  noble  train,  with  all  the  spear-men 
attendant  on  the  King,  was  like  unto  a 
little  army  covering  the  paths  and  tracks, 
for  many  miles,  as  they  wound  amongst 
the  woods  of  Ardenn ;  or  like  unto  some 
mighty  river,  that  flowing  along,  appears, 
where  the  shades  open,  in  shining  bends 
upon  the  plain,  and  is  lost  again  as  they 
enter  beneath  the  gloom  ;  but  yet  may 
you  judge  of  their  course  throughout  all 
the  prospect.  Like  as  you  may  the  bro- 
ken lines  of  the  great  aqueduct,  stretch- 
ing over  the  plains  of  our  dear  father  of 
Rome ;  which,  as  we  perceive  its  distant 
points  athwart  those  solitudes,  we  connect 
in  our  minds  into  one  great  whole,  grander 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  81 

in  its  sweep  than  it  might  have  shown 
when  it  stood  complete. 

There  went  before  the  King  a  hundred 
archers  in  pairs,  sumptuously  apparelled, 
and  having  the  feathers  of  their  arrows 
stained  with  green  ;  the  horns  sounded 
before  them  through  the  woods  :  then 
fifty  demi-lancemen,  two  abreast  ;  then 
fifty  pike-men  ;  then  trumpets,  with  their 
banners  also  displayed ;  then  officers  at 
arms,  in  their  sur-coats,  the  Serjeants  with 
their  maces.  In  the  midst  was  borne  up 
the  royal  banner,  by  six  of  the  standard- 
bearers  :  the  pipes  of  it  were  of  silver, 
and  were  slided  along  the  banner-staff; 
which  was  held  with  horn  in  a  girdle  of 
white  leather,  embroidered,  worn  by  the 
King's  chief  standard-bearer. 

The  King's  Highness  came  riding  on  a 

noble  grey,  widely  encompassed  about  with 

pikemen,    and  attended  by  divers  nobles 

of  the  realm  and  by  knights  and  gentils, 

e  5 


82  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

without  number.  His  Highness  wore  that 
day  a  cloak  of  purple  velvet,  lined  with 
yellow  satin,  and  furred  with  martin  and 
ermine  ;  on  his  head  was  a  cap  of  black 
velvet,  bearing  a  sable  plume.  His  coun- 
tenance was  goodly  and  gracious,  and  he 
often  turned  and  spoke  to  those  about 
him. 

On  his  right  hand,  rode  the  young 
Prince  Edward,  holding  in  his  fiery  charger, 
yet  looking  as  though  he  would  fain  spur 
him  to  the  top  of  his  speed.  Next  to  him 
rode  the  Archbishop  of  York.  On  the 
King's  left,  was  his  brother,  the  Earl  of 
Cornwall.  The  Bishop  of  Coventry  would 
have  been  there,  but  he  was  then  lying 
sick  on  his  bed ;  but  the  Prior  and  divers 
of  the  monks  attended  on  the  King. 

First  amongst  the  knights,  that  waited 
on  his  grace,  was  Gaston  de  Biondeville, 
a  young  Prove^al;  whom  King  Henry  had 
raised,  for  some  daring  exploits  in  his  do- 


GASTON   DE    BLONDEVILLE.  83 

minions  beyond  the  sea,  to  be  a  knight  of 
his  household.  He  was  of  comely  person 
and  gallant  air ;  and  managed  his  proud 
charger  with  such  easy  grace,  as  a  lady 
might,  with  silken  bandage,  guide  a  fawn. 
He  wore  a  cloak  of  pale  olive,  lined  and 
guarded  with  rose  colour ;  his  cap  was  of 
velvet  like  to  it,  and  he  wore  his  feathers 
in  the  French  fashion  :  for  he  was  of  the 
Queen's  country,  and  had  all  the  gaiety 
of  her  nation  in  his  countenance  and  'ha- 
viour. 

Yet  were  there  some  in  the  court,  men 
of  English  ground,  who  liked  him  not ;  it 
may  be,  because  he  was  a  stranger  in  our 
land,  or  that  he  bore  a  proud  defiance  in 
his  eye,  or  that  they  envied  him  his  favour 
with  the  King. 

Some  way  before  the  Queen,  went  fifty  of 
the  foresters  of  Ardenn  clothed  in  green, 
sounding  their  horns.  She  was  in  her  lit- 
ter, tapestried  with  cloth  of  gold,  and  she 


84  GASTON    DE    BLONDEV1LLE, 

was  compassed  all  about  with  her  ladies 
and  her  nobles  and  esquires.  Her  lit- 
ter was  borne  by  two  brave  coursers,  right 
richly  trapped  with  velvet,  and  led  by 
pages  apparelled  in  sumptuous  liveries ; 
other  pages,  in  'broidered  doublets,  went 
beside  her,  or  following.  Then  came  her 
master  of  the  horses,  leading  her  palfrey, 
very  richly  appointed,  the  bridle  and 
breast- chain  studded  with  jewels,  followed 
by  another  of  her  palfreys,  led  by  a  page. 
Her  Highness  was  adorned  in  a  close  gown 
of  velvet,  'broidered  about  with  pearls,  and 
bearing  upon  her  head  a  great  hood  of 
black  velvet,  richly  sewed  with  large  pearls. 
Following  her  Highness,  came  her  ladies 
and  gentlewomen  mounted  on  fair  palfreys, 
richly  appointed  and  apparelled  ;  a  goodly 
company. 

Then  came  her  Highness's  chariot  emp- 
ty, drawn  by  six  horses,  led  by  pages  in 
jackets  of  scarlet  damask,  with  the  Eng- 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  85 

lish  crown  'broidered  on  their  backs.  They 
bore  in  their  caps  a  white  feather  ;  drop- 
ping aside,  in  the  manner  of  France,  where- 
at the  people  murmured,  and  well  they 
might ;  for  such  a  sight  of  strangers,  from 
her  own  land,  the  like  was  never  seen  ! 
But  the  Queen  bore  herself  so  graciously  to- 
wards the  people,  smiling  upon  them  with 
her  comely  countenance,  that  she  won  away 
their  discontent.  Other  gentlewomen  of 
her  court  followed  her  car,  mounted  on 
palfreys. 

Next  came  Eleanor,  the  widowed  Coun- 
tess of  Pembroke,  the  King's  sister,  now 
Countess  of  Leicester,  in  her  litter,  with  a 
sumptuous  train :  and  then  Cincia,  the 
Countess  of  Cornwall,  the  sister  of  the 
Queen,  right  freshly  apparelled,  and  sump- 
tuously attended  by  noble  dames  and  gen- 
tils  ;  and  a  sight  of  people  followed,  in  the 
different  liveries  of  their  masters. 

Before  the  Queen,  went  her  mynstrdls 


86  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

of  music ;  who,  when  they  came  nigh  to 
Kenilworth,  began  to  blow  upon  their  pipes, 
and  to  strum  their  stringed  instruments 
with  most  sweet  noise — so  that  the  bells  of 
a  village  there,  which  were  rung  for  mirth, 
could  not  be  heard  so  far. 

Amongst  the  damsels  attending  the 
Queen,  none  were  so  fair  as  the  lady  Isa- 
bel, daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Arundel,  and 
the  lady  Barbara,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of 
Huntingdon  ;  who  followed  her  Highness, 
on  white  palfreys.  Ychon  of  them  was 
beautiful  beyond  thought :  the  lady  Isa- 
bel was  the  more  stately  and  carried  a 
higher  brow ;  but  Lady  Barbara's  smiles 
were  blyther  than  the  morn. 

Soon  as  the  towers  of  Kenilworth  show- 
ed themselves  upon  the  West,  which,  if 
it  had  not  been  for  the  glowing  spears 
of  those  on  the  battlements,  would  hardly 
have  been  known  from  the  dark  wood- 
tops, — soon  as  they  appeared,  some  half- 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEV1LLE.  87 

score  of  the  foresters  rode  forward  with 
their  bugles,  to  give  sign  of  the  King's  ap- 
proach ;  but  were  straight  sounded  back 
by  the  trumpets,  which  blew  up  a  blast, 
that  filled  the  forest,  and  echoed  to  the 
very  castle  walls,  ere  the  proud  trum- 
peters would  stop. 

Then  his  Highness  courteously  com- 
manded, that  those  who  had  come  forth 
so  many  miles,  to  welcome  him  on  his 
way,  should  be  appointed  to  proclaim 
him  at  the  gates.  They  waited  not  for 
second  bidding;  but,  tuning  up  so  clear 
and  sweet,  set  spurs  to  their  hobbies,  and 
flew  swiftly  as  the  arrows  from  their  own 
bows. 

All  the  way  hence  to  Kenilworth  was 
lined  with  other  troops  of  foresters  in 
green ;  who,  at  certain  distances,  saluted 
the  King,  as  he  passed,  with  their  bugles, 
in  spite  of  the  trumpets,  that  charged  so 
loud  and  shrill  their  minet-flourishes  :  and 


88  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

they  followed  in  the  Queen's  train.  The 
King's  pike-men  and  lance-men  going 
after  of  all. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  bugles  before 
the  gate,  you  might  see  the  great  banner 
of  England  raised  upon  the  keep  of  Ke- 
nilworth.  Then,  the  chief  wardour  of  the 
castle  appeared  upon  the  turret ;  though  he 
stayed  not  long  there,  but  went  down  to 
join  his  lord,  in  their  service  at  the  gate. 
The  archers  behind  the  battlements  stood 
in  order ;  other  bow-men  and  the  lance- 
men  ranged  themselves  behind  the  tower- 
walls,  and  the  trumpets  there  answered 
the  summons,  with  a  blast,  that  shook  the 
forest,  and  made  the  fair  waters  of  the  val- 
ley tremble ;  roughening  the  portraiture 
of  towers  and  woods,  which  had  seemed 
to  sleep  upon  their  surface,  as  in  a  glass 
of  chrystal. 

Then  the  Lord  Constable,  coining  down 
from  the  keep,  followed  by  a  posse  of  his 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  89 

officers,  took  to  horse  and  went  out  to  meet 
the  King.  As  he  turned  out  of  the  gate, 
he  met  the  Prior  of  Saint  Mary's,  with 
the  twelve  canons,  and  a  long  train  pro- 
cessioning, all  in  full  ceremony,  bearing 
precious  reliques,  to  welcome  his  Highness ; 
after  them  came  the  priest  and  sundry  of 
the  parish-church,  singing. 

The  press  of  people,  from  all  the  coun- 
try about,  was  so  thick,  that  hardly  could 
the  monks  make  way  among  them.  The 
castellan,  a  man  proud  and  jealous  of  his 
high  place,  was  not  well  pleased,  that 
they  should  try  to  present  themselves  to 
the  King,  before  himself;  but  they  were 
soon  right  glad  to  follow  in  his  train,  for 
strait  as  he  appeared,  the  crowd  was 
forced  back,  and  they  passed,  without 
difficulty,  in  that  wise,  full  three  furlongs. 

The   castellan,    coming   in   presence    of 
his  Highness,  leaped  from  his  horse,  and, 
on  his   knee,  presented   him   the  keys  of 


^ 


90  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

the  castle,  on  a  rich  plate ;  the  which  his 
Highness  readily  delivered  to  him  again, 
with  a  gracious  speech,  bearing,  that  they 
were  well  in  his  custody.  Then,  the  Prior 
and  canons  of  Saint  Mary's  showed  them- 
selves in  procession,  with  banners,  and 
chaunting  sweet  anthems,  and  his  High- 
ness looked  kindly  on  them ;  after  which 
they  went  on  to  the  Queen,  and,  paying 
duty,  attended  her  to  the  castle.  But 
my  Lord  Constable,  remounting  his  horse, 
rode  bareheaded  before  his  Highness,  to 
the  very  gates. 

Immediately  before  the  King,  was  borne 
his  sword  of  justice,  by  the  Lord  Hubert 
de  Lacey ;  where,  on  the  sheath,  you  might 
behold,  in  letters  of  rubies,  these  words, 
"  Truth  and  Right."  As  he  passed  all 
the  people  cried  out,  "  King  Henry,  King 
Henry,  long  live  King  Henry !  and  bless- 
ings on  your  sweet-favoured  visage !" 

Then,  they  threw  forth  on  the  air,  for 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  91 

joy,  among  other  tokens,  corn  and  flour  ; 
so  that  many  of  the  nobles  of  the  realm, 
nay,  some  of  the  King's  guard,  liked  it 
not,  for  the  flour-dust,  falling  on  their 
garments,  disguised  them  like  unto  grin- 
ders of  corn :  but  they  held  their  peace, 
as  needs  must,  passing  on  in  solemn  state- 
liness. 

Before  the  cjstle-gates,  a  great  show 
of  the  King's  bow-men  were  drawn  out 
to  receive  him,  and  the  courts  within  were 
lined,  and  every  tower  and  battlement  was 
thronged  with  his  soldiers.  There,  too, 
were  the  foresters  ready  at  the  gates,  who, 
on  the  King's  approach  tuned  up  their 
merry  bugles,  with  might  and  main ;  as 
though  one  breath  sounded  through  the 
whole  of  them.  But,  when  the  heralds 
passed  under  the  towers,  their  trumpets 
took  their  revenge,  for  they  gave  many 
blasts,  that  made  every  court  within  shake 
for  joy  ;  and  showed  more  like  a  triumph 


92  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

of  war  than  a  flourish  of  festival.  They 
on  the  ramparts  now  seemed  to  take  the 
hint,  and  joined  them  with  such  warrior- 
sounds  of  fierce  disdain,  that  the  clear 
bugle  seemed  but  as  a  shepherd-pipe  be- 
neath them,  and,  for  a  season,  was  not 
heard  at  all. 

Certes,  the  noise  of  the  trumpets  and 
cornets,  the  clanging  of  bells,  the  tramp- 
ling of  horses  over  the  bridge,  the  striking 
of  swords  upon  shields,  with,  ever  and 
anon,  the  shouts  of  the  multitude,  as- 
tounded cattle  and  fowl  in  the  woods,  far 
and  wide.  Old  wives  and  they  that  might 
not  leave  their  homes  for  sickness  could 
hear  the  mingled  uproar ;  and  could  know 
as  surely,  when  the  King  reached  Kenil- 
worth,  as  those,  who  had  journeyed  thi- 
ther to  behold  him.  And  many  an  outlaw 
in  the  forest,  who  feared  to  show  his  face 
among  the  crowd,  lay  hearkening  in  his 
den,  or  stalked  under  the  old  oaks,  while 


GASTON    DE     BLONDEVILLE.  93 

he  watched  the  minutes  of  the  coming 
twilight,  and  reckoned  on  the  booty  he 
should  seize  from  careless  travellers,  re- 
turning, at  night,  to  distant  towns. 

Some  too  there  were,  who,  in  the  path- 
less holds  of  this  forest,  heard  the  far-off 
voice  of  joyance  and  society,  with  bitter 
grief;  finding  out,  too  late,  they  were  not 
made  for  that  lonesomeness  of  heart  their 
thoughtless  vices  had  condemned  them  to. 
Alas  !  for  such,  let  them  shrive  and  betake 
themselves,  as  penitents,  to  holy  cloister. 

When  the  Queen's  litter  came  near  the 
gates  of  the  castle,  her  minstrels  of  music 
sang  with  most  sweet  glee,  and  the  bugles 
saluted  her  as  she  passed  into  the  barbican, 
or  first  tower  of  defence  ;  but,  soon  as  she 
appeared  on  the  draw-bridge,  the  trumpets 
from  the  ramparts  blew  up  a  flourish,  and 
then  the  minstrels  stopped,  though  they 
had  not  finished  their  fit.  And  they  did 
well ;  for  hardly  could  there  be  heard  the 


94  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

trampling  of  the  horses'  hoofs  upon  the 
bridge,  nor  the  distant  music  in  the  courts 
before  the  King.  The  walls  and  turrets, 
thronged  with  faces,  seemed  to  be  alive, 
and  to  shout,  as  with  one  voice,  "  Queen 
Eleanor !  Queen  Eleanor !  long  live  Queen 
Eleanor!" — but  some  few  were  heard  to 
shout,  "  Away  with  the  foreigners ! — 
away  with  all  foreigners  !"  which  the  good 
Queen  seemed  not  to  hear,  though  she 
guessed  in  her  heart  what  they  said ;  and 
many  a  noble  knight  and  lady  near  her 
knew  well.  She,  with  unchanged  counte- 
nance, showed  only  sweet  smiles  to  those 
numberless  eyes,  darting  from  the  walls 
and  battlements,  all  turned  upon  her  litter, 
as  it  passed  over  the  bridge,  glittering  in 
the  last  beams  of  this  day's  sun,  and  then 
entered  beneath  that  deep  and  dark  arch- 
way of  the  great  tower,  leading  into  the 
base  court. 

Beyond,  in  the  sunshine,  could  be  seen 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  95 

the  King's  Highness,  preceded  by  the  Lord 
Constable,  and  having  the  Archbishop  on 
his  right  and  Prince  Edward  on  his  left, 
passing  forward  to  the  upper  court ;  where, 
on  the  steps,  stood  the  marshals  of  the  hall, 
the  stewards,  the  esquires  of  the  household, 
with  many  officers  of  the  castle,  waiting  to 
receive  him,  some  with  chains  of  gold  on 
their  necks  :  the  royal  banner  waving  over 
all.  They  stood  so  thick,  looking  over  one 
another's  shoulders,  face  above  face,  on  the 
steps  there,  that  they  seemed  like  a  ram- 
part of  heads  ;  while,  below  them,  in  the 
same  court,  the  lance-men  and  yeomen  of 
the  household  stood  waiting  to  receive  the 
Queen. 

And  truly  it  was  a  pleasureful  sight,  to 
behold  that  vision  of  light  appearing  be- 
yond the  deep  portal,  under  which  stood, 
on  either  hand,  the  wardours  in  their  ni- 
ches, to  the  number  of  eight ;  so  dim,  they 
showed  like  shadows  more  than  substance, 


96 


GASTON    DE    BLOND  EVILLE. 


albeit,  they  did  not  lack  of  that.  And  a 
more  delightful  sight  it  was  to  behold  the 
Queen  and  all  her  train,  winding  through 
that  dark  arch  into  the  beams  beyond ;  the 
rich  trappings  of  steeds  and  men,  their 
breast-plates  and  spears  and  steel  caps,  ail 
glancing  in  the  setting  sun.  There,  too, 
you  might  see,  through  the  higher  bars 
of  the  portcullis,  the  windows  of  the  great 
chamber  hung  out  with  tapestry  of  silk 
and  cloth  of  gold. 

But  that,  which  caused  some  surprise  to 
those  who  watched  without,  was  a  sudden 
turmoil,  that  appeared  around  the  King  in 
the  court,  just  as  the  Queen's  litter  was 
advancing  forth  of  the  arch-way.  A  man 
was  seen  forcing  himself  among  the  guards, 
towards  his  Highness,  who  turned  his  face 
backwards  in  the  sun,  as  if  to  see  what 
was  going  on ;  and  seemed  to  rein  in  his 
steed,  while  he  held  forth  his  right  arm  to 
Sir  Gaston  de  Blondeville,  who,  with  cap 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  97 

in  hand,  leaned  forward  on  his  courser,  as 
if  receiving  some  command.  The  while, 
the  heads  and  spears  of  soldiers  gathered 
round,  moving  in  tumultuous  hurry,  rising 
and  falling  incessantly,  like  unto  those 
stormy  white  tops  coming  on  over  a  dark- 
ened sea. 

On  a  sudden,  the  King  disappeared : 
some  thought  he  had  fallen  from  his  steed, 
struck  by  the  hand  of  the  stranger ;  and 
then,  such  was  the  throng  of  people  beyond 
the  portal  to  get  forward  for  more  cer- 
tainty, that  hardly  could  the  Queen's  guard 
keep  them  back,  till  his  Highness  was  seen 
ascending  the  steps  of  the  high  court. 

At  last,  out  of  the  midst  of  the  confu- 
sion a  shield  was  seen  raised  upon  the  tra- 
versed spears  of  six  soldiers,  and  borne 
towards  the  outer  gate,  having  upon  it  a 
man  stretched,  as  if  dead.  But  at  the 
great  portal  the  soldiers  stopped,  and  drew 
aside  to  make  way   for  the  Queen ;   his 

vol.  I.  F 


98  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVTLLE. 

Highness,  meanwhile,  with  his  nobles  and 
young  knight,  had  withdrawn  into  the 
state  apartments. 

When  her  Highness  was  gone  by,  they 
brought  the  man  upon  the  shield  into  the 
free  air  without  the  walls,  and  lowered 
their  burden  on  the  grass ;  but  the  tumult 
of  the  people  was  so  great,  (they  suspect- 
ing that  he  had  attempted  the  Kings  life) 
that  the  soldiers  with  their  spears  had 
much  ado  to  save  him  from  their  fury,  or 
to  keep  a  little  space  open  around  him. 

He  was  a  man  of  goodly  appearance, 
that  lay  there,  seeming  without  life.  Anon, 
he  began  to  stir  himself,  and  in  a  little 
while  opened  his  eyes  ;  the  which,  when 
the  people  saw  it,  redoubled  their  fury ; 
and  they  demanded,  that  he  should  be  had 
to  prison,  for  "  he  has  assailed  the  life  of 
our  good  King  ["  With  that  they  made 
such  a  roaring,  that  the  shouts  of  the 
soldiers,  who  wanted  to  set  them  right. 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  99 

could  not  be  heard,  the  women  brawling 
louder  than  all  of  them  together. 

Thus  it  went  for  some  time  :  and  then, 
the  noise  being  hushed,  they  found  out 
the  man  was  innocent  of  what  they  had 
suspected. 

When  the  stranger  had  recovered  him- 
self a  little,  he  stared  wildly ;  and,  rais- 
ing himself  up,  he  looked  round  him,  as  if 
examining  the  countenance  of  every  one, 
whom  curiosity  or  anger  had  made  to 
bend  over  him.  And  so  he  looked  again 
and  again,  till  they  asked  him,  if  he 
thought  he  saw  the  countenance  of  any 
one  there,  whom  he  knew.  Then  he 
fetched  a  deep  sigh,  and  said,  "  I  as  surely 
saw  him  as  I  now  breathe,  but  he  is  not 
here." 

Divers  present  then  asked  him,  of  whom 
he  spoke,  but  he  only  muttered  to  himself, 
"  I  could  not  be  deceived ;  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  me  ever  to  forget  him."  Then  he 
f  2 


100  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

shook  from  limb  to  limb,  and  was  nigh 
going  off  into  a  swoon  again.  The  peo- 
ple, meanwhile,  pressed  upon  the  soldiers 
to  know  what  all  this  meant ;  and  curio- 
sity and  pity  began  to  take  the  place  of 
rage. 

The  tale  went,  that,  as  King  Henry  had 
approached  the  entrance  of  the  second 
court,  this  man,  who  had  passed  the  portal 
amongst  the  King's  horses,  at  the  risk  of 
his  life,  came  beside  him,  and,  having  fixed 
his  eyes  with  the  greatest  attention  upon 
a  knight  of  the  King's  household,  cried 
out,  "  Justice  !  most  noble  Henry."  Then, 
as  if  unable  to  utter  something  he  would 
have  spoken,  he  fell  down  in  strong  con- 
vulsions, and  was  nigh  being  trampled  to 
death.  His  Highness,  seeing  the  condition 
of  the  man,  had  commanded  he  should 
be  taken  forth  of  the  court,  and  aid  ad- 
ministered to  him  ;  and  this  was  all  the 
soldiers  could  tell. 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  101 

There  were  some  amongst  the  crowd 
who  thought  they  had  seen  him  before, 
and  questioned  him  of  his  name,  and 
wherefore  he  had  presumed  to  approach 
the  King  in  such  manner ;  to  all  which 
he  would  nothing  answer ;  but  seemed 
heavy  at  heart,  and  as  if  his  very  sadness 
would  not  let  him  speak ;  only  these  words 
he  uttered,  once  or  more, — "  It  was  he 
himself!  I  should  have  known  him  at 
Cairo  !" 

Some  still  said  they  had  seen  the  poor 
man  before ;  naithless  he  proved  to  be  a 
stranger  in  Kenilworth.  When  he  could 
walk,  he  was  led  back  to  the  little  hostel, 
where  he  had  taken  up  his  lodging,  and 
there  he  remained  closely  hid  from  the 
eyes  of  every  one,  all  that  night. 


THE  SECOND  DAY. 


THE  SECOND  DAY. 


At  the  head  of  this  chapter  was  a  view  of  the 
tilt-yard,  at  the  end  of  the  great  lake,  with  the 
towers  of  Kenilworth  above. — In  the  lists  were  two 
armed  knights,  on  foot,  each  poising  his  spear  at 
the  other.  They  were  cased  in  complete  steel ; 
their  visors  closed,  each  bearing  on  his  helmet  his 
plume  and  crest.  There  was  somewhat  very  im- 
pressive in  the  station  and  in  the  whole  appearance 
of  these  armoured  figures.  Each  stood  with  his 
right  foot  advanced;  the  right  arm,  holding  the 
spear,  was  raised  high,  displaying  at  once  the 
strength  and  grace  of  an  accomplished  warrior.  At 
the  end  and  along  one  side  of  the  tilt-yard,  were 
galleries  hung  with  tapestry,  where  sat  the  Queen 
and  her  ladies,  and  the  King  and  his  nobles,  waiting 
to  behold  the  encounter.  The  opposite  sides  were 
open  to  the  lake,  the  woods,  and  the  castle. 


THE  SECOND  DAY. 


In  the  morn,  next  after  the  King  came 
to  Kenihvorth,  there  was  tilting  in  the 
great  yard  of  the  castle,  at  which  his  High- 
ness, with  the  Queen  and  her  court,  were 
present.  This  was  the  day  of  Turney  ;  but. 
although  this  noble  company  made  a  goodly 
show,  they  were  not  apparelled  with  that 
splendour  they  showed  on  the  chief  day, 
as  will  be  hereafter  rehearsed. 

Among  the  ladies  of  the  court,  none  sur- 
passed for  beauty  the  lady  Barbara,  daugh- 
ter of  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon  and  a  fa- 
vourite damsel  of  the  Queen  ;  her  the  King 
intended  to  bestow  in  marriage,  during 
F  5 


106  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

his  sojourn  in  Ardenn.  She  was  innocent 
and  graceful,  as  the  fawns  that  bound  in 
our  forest,  and  excelled  in  all  the  accom- 
plishments of  the  court.  She  had  fixed 
her  heart  on  Sir  Gaston  de  Blondeville,  a 
young  knight  of  the  King's  household,  who 
had  entreated  her  of  her  father  in  vain  ; 
for,  though  he  was  of  a  good  family,  it  was 
a  foreign  one,  being  of  the  Queen's  country, 
and  he  had  little  besides  the  favour  of  his 
master  to  depend  on.  The  youth  was  of 
a  comely  person  and  gallant  bearing ;  well 
practised  in  all  martial  exercises  of  war, 
of  which  he  had  given  some  proof  in  ex- 
ploits, and  had  latterly  so  much  displayed 
himself  in  a  fierce  adventure  against  some 
of  King  Henry's  rebellious  subjects,  beyond 
sea,  that  his  Highness  had  incontinently 
advanced  him  to  be  one  of  his  own  knights. 
Moreover,  the  King,  on  hearing  of  his  ill- 
faring  suit,  had  taken  that  matter  into  his 
special   cognizance ;  and  the  King   knew 


GASTOX    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  107 

so  well  how  to  command  the  earl,  that  he 
consented  to  give  his  daugher  to  the  knight, 
and  his  Highness  determined  the  marriage 
should  be  solemnized  forthwith. 

But,  on  this  very  first  day,  after  his  ar- 
rival, his  spirit  was  ruffled  by  a  strange 
accident.  As  his  Highness  was  return- 
ing from  the  Tilt-yard,  accompanied  by  the 
Queen,  and  attended  by  the  whole  court, 
his  harpers  playing  before  him,  a  stranger 
came  forth  of  the  crowd,  and  falling  at  his 
feet,  called  out  boldly  for  justice.  Many 
there  present  knew  him  for  the  man  who, 
the  night  before,  had  showed  such  striking 
signs  of  a  disturbed  mind  ;  and  now,  noting 
his  unseemly  vehemence,  they  stopped 
and  asked  for  what  offence  he  demanded 
justice.  The  King,  too,  remembered  him  ; 
and  listening  what  he  should  say,  the  man, 
observing  that,  addressed  his  looks  and  his 
voice  eagerly  to  him,  and  exclaimed,  that 
he   demanded  justice    upon    robbers    and 


108  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

murderers  who  infested  the  highways  of 
his  kingdom  with  more  violence  and  fre- 
quency than  was  ever  known  before,  so 
that  none  of  his  peaceable  subjects  were 
safe  from  them. 

The  King,  seeing  the  wildness  of  his 
look  and  the  strangeness  of  his  gesture, 
guessed  the  man  was  not  rightly  himself; 
yet  he  commanded  him  forthwith  into  the 
castle,  there  to  wait,  till  he  should  speak 
with  him,  or  order  some  others  to  do  so ; 
and  the  procession  passed  on. 

Meanwhile,  the  King  determined  not 
to  leave  this  matter,  till  he  should  have 
seen  something  more  about  it,  with  his 
own  discernment.  He  went  speedily  into 
the  white  hall,  which  was  the  court  of 
justice,  keeping  only  a  few  of  his  nobles 
and  other  attendants,  where  he  summoned 
the  stranger  before  him,  and  had  question 
put  to  him,  who  he  was  and  of  what  par- 
ticular grievance  he  had  to  complain, 


GASTON    DE    BLONPEVILLE, 


109 


The  man  answered,  that  his  name  was 
Hugh  Woodreeve,  a  merchant  of  Bristol : 
and  then  he  told  his  story — that,  three 
years  before,  travelling  with  a  very  large 
sum  of  money  in  his  possession,  and,  being 
in  company  with  three  other  travellers, 
two  of  them  merchants  of  good  repute, 
and  the  other  a  kinsman  of  his  own,  they 
were  attacked  in  the  forest  of  Ardenn, 
when  about  two  miles  from  Keniiworth, 
and  robbed  of  nearly  ail  they  carried. 
They  did  not  part  with  it  quietly,  it  was 
so  much.  His  kinsman,  however,  was  the 
only  one  of  the  party  that  had  good  arms ; 
he  had  served  in  the  wars,  and  he  now 
manfully  resisted  the  ruffians,  who  direct- 
ed most  of  their  vengeance  to  him;  he 
was  murdered  on  the  spot;  for  the  rest 
of  his  company,  they  escaped  with  some 
hurts.  No  one  of  the  robbers  was  killed, 
but  two  or  three  were  wounded. 

Here  the  merchant  stopped  and  seemed 


110  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

ready  to  sink.  His  Highness,  having  de- 
clared his  indignation  at  this  villany,  as- 
sured the  merchant,  that  justice  should  be 
done  upon  the  guilty,  if  they  could  be 
found,  and  asked  whether  he  could  swear 
to  them,  if  he  should  see  them  again. 
The  stranger  straight  replied,  that  he 
could  truly  swear  to  the  murderer,  and 
that  he  had  seen  him  in  the  very  court, 
nay,  that  he  saw  him  at  that  very  instant, 
standing  even  beside  the  King's  chair. 

King  Henry,  struck  with  astonishment, 
fixed  his  eyes  sternly  on  the  stranger,  for 
a  moment,  and  then  looked  at  those 
around  him.  On  his  right  hand,  was  his 
son,  Prince  Edward,  and,  on  his  left,  his 
young  favourite,  Gaston  de  Blonde ville, 
upon  whom  all  eyes  were  fastened;  for 
to  him  the  answer  pertayned,  and  to  him 
the  accuser  pointed,  with  a  look  of  horror, 
which  convinced  every  one  present,  except 
his   Highness,    he  did   indeed   believe  he 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  Ill 

saw  before  him  the  murderer  of  his  friend, 
whether  his  fancy  deceived  him,  or  not. 
For  the  King  himself,  he  inclined  to  think 
the  accuser  was  either  disordered  in  his 
mind,  or  that,  from  some  unknown  cause, 
he  was  the  enemy  of  Sir  Gaston  ;  and  his 
Highness  knew  well  of  the  unreasonable 
and  deadly  abhorrence,  in  which  many 
of  his  subjects  of  Britain  held  some  of 
those  strangers  from  France,  who  had 
risen  into  favour. 

At  the  boldness  of  this  accusation,  Sir 
Gaston  stood,  at  first,  like  one  stricken 
with  dismay ;  then,  moving  his  hand 
towards  his  sword,  he  said,  u  but  for  the 
presence  of  the  King,  my  master,  I  should 
soon  avenge  me  for  so  foul  a  slander." 

To  which  the  merchant,  now  much 
more  tranquil  than  he  had  been,  said, 
"  The  same  reason  must  restrain  all ;  but 
I  do  not  need  it :  I  would  not  set  my  life 


112  GASTON   DE   BLONDEVILLE. 

against  that  of   an   assassin !    I   ask  for 
justice  from  his  Highness." 

At  these  words,  Sir  Gaston  was  hardly 
withheld  from  his  accuser.  King  Henry 
commanded  silence  :  and,  as  soon  as  all 
noise  had  ceased,  he  turned  with  a  severe 
countenance  to  the  stranger,  and  said, 
"  Know  you  not,  that  he,  whom  you  ac- 
cuse is  a  knight  of  my  household,  ad- 
vanced to  honour  for  his  valour  ?" 

"  Yea,  noble  King  Henry,"  replied  the 
merchant,  "  I  have  heard  so  ;  but,  I  re- 
peat, he  is  the  man  who  killed  my  kins- 
man !  I  never  can  forget  that  face :  if  I 
had  met  him  in  a  distant  land,  I  should 
have  seized  him  for  the  murderer !" 

The  King,  more  fully  convinced  of  the 
unsoundness  of  his  mind,  said,  "  Your 
passion  has  deceived  you ;  thus  far  I  am 
willing  to  pardon  you;  if  you  go  farther, 
you  must  be  taught  what  it  is  to  disho- 
nour a  gentleman  and  a  knight." 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  113 

Upon  this,  the  merchant  fell  at  the 
King's  feet ;  and,  with  uplifted  hands,  again 
cried  out  for  justice  !  Henry,  hardly  less 
astonished  at  the  resolution  of  the  man, 
than  that  one  of  his  household  should  be 
thus  accused,  (although  he  might  have 
bethought  him  of  the  law  he  had  himself 
found  it  expedient  to  make  heretofore  at 
Kenilworth,  respecting  robberies  then  com- 
mitted in  a  very  extraordinary  manner  on 
the  highways) — King  Henry,  though  asto- 
nished, began  to  doubt.  He  fixed  a  look, 
in  which  there  was  somewhat  of  inquiry, 
upon  Sir  Gaston,  whose  visage  was  pale, 
though  his  eye  was  fierce ;  but  who  may 
say,  whether  fear  or  anger  maketh  some 
men  pale  ? 

The  King  held  it  to  be  the  last;  a 
momentary  doubt  had  entered  his  mind ; 
but  he  promptly  dismissed  it.  His  High- 
ness was  commanding,  that  the  stranger 
should  be  removed  ;  and,  for  the  present, 


114  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVTLLE. 

confined  in  the  castle  ;  when  Prince  Ed- 
ward, who,  young  as  he  was,  had  closely 
observed  all  that  had  passed,  craved  hum- 
bly of  the  King,  his  father,  to  suffer  the 
merchant  to  be  further  questioned ;  and 
the  King  consented  thereto. 

Then  the  man  was  asked,  whether  he 
could  tell  the  year  and  the  month,  when 
the  robbery  he  spoke  of  had  been  com- 
mitted. He  was  ready  enough  with  his 
answers,  and  said  it  was  on  the  eighteenth 
of  October,  in  the  year  twelve  hundred 
and  fifty-three,  and  on  the  chase ;  that  he 
was  sure  of  the  time,  because  it  was  within 
three  days  of  that,  when  he  should  have 
paid  to  a  goldsmith  the  most  part  of  the 
money,  whereof  he  was  robbed.  Upon 
this,  the  King  seemed  to  consider  awhile, 
for  he  knew,  that,  about  that  time,  a 
camp  lay  in  the  neighbourhood  of  War- 
wick and  on  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  115 

that  Sir  Gaston  was  there,  he  being  then 
serving  as  esquire  to  Sir  Pierse  Mallory. 

At  the  last  words  of  the  merchant, 
Sir  Gaston  moved  towards  the  King,  as 
though  he  would  privily  say  something  ; 
but  his  Highness  reproved  him  with  a 
frown ;  and  asked  the  merchant  at 
what  hour  the  robbery  was  committed, 
and  what  were  the  array  and  appearance 
of  the  robbers  ? 

The  knight  interrupting  the  reply,  then 
said  aloud,  "Sire!  I  entreat  you,  be  mind- 
ful of  the  condition  of  disgrace,  in  which 
I  must  stand,  if  you  seem  to  give  coun- 
tenance to  this  scandalous  accusation.  I 
know  not,  that  I  shall  be  able  to  breathe, 
if  it  be  thought,  that  your  Highness  could, 
for  one  minute,  think  it  possible  I  could 
have  committed  so  foul  a  deed." 

King  Henry,  looking  kindly  upon  him 
said,  "  It  is  right  you  should  be  cleared 
with  those,  who  know  you  not  so  well  as 


116 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 


I  do ;  and  chiefly  with  those,  who  love  not 
men  of  your  country ;  and,  therefore, 
would  I  examine  this  witless  charge  to 
the  uttermost."  His  Highness  then  made 
all  his  questions  over  again. 

The  merchant  considered  awhile,  and 
somewhat  of  his  boldness  seemed  to  for- 
sake him :  he  then  answered,  "  the  num- 
ber of  the  robbers  was  three  ;  they  were 
most  of  them  tall  in  stature  ;  they  wore 
cloaks  about  them,  and  had  masks  on 
their  faces." 

"  Masks  ?"  said  the  King. 

"  Masks  !"  murmured  the  courtiers, 
with  one  voice. 

The  King,  daunting  the  accuser  with 
the  anger  of  his  countenance,  said,  "  You 
could  swear  to  this  knight,  as  one  of  the 
robbers,  and  yet  you  say,  he  had  a  mask 
on  his  face  !  I  suspect  you  now  for  an 
impostor  more  than  for  a  moody  man.  If 
it  prove  so,  tremble !  for  I  swear  by  my 


GASTON   DE    BLONDEVILLE.  117 

sword  you  shall  not  escape.  I  give  you 
one  more  warning,  to  stop  before  you  to- 
tally plunge  into  your  ruin." 

At  these  words,  delivered  with  vehe- 
mence, the  paleness  left  Sir  Gaston's  face, 
and  he  made  a  profound  obeisance,  show- 
ing his  gratitude  to  the  King.  The  ac- 
cuser, dismayed,  could  not  immediately  find 
his  voice,  as  it  seemed.  Haply,  he  could 
not  so  speedily  send  back  his  thoughts  to 
the  rest  of  his  story.  Incontinently,  the 
most  of  the  assemblage  began  to  look 
ychon  in  other's  face. 

By-and-bye,  the  merchant  said,  that  in 
the  struggle  between  his  companions  and 
the  robbers,  two  of  the  vizors  fell  off,  and 
so  he  saw  plainly  the  faces  of  the  robbers, 
and  he  perfectly  remembered  the  face  of 
the  knight.  His  Highness,  without  telling 
his  thoughts  on  this,  which  many  there 
present  scrupled  not  to  hold  an  after- 
invention  of  the  accuser,  commanded  him 


118  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

to  begin  his  tale  anew,  and  to  tell,  one 
by  one,  every  particular  he  could  bring  to 
mind  of  the  alleged  adventure  ;  but  be- 
fore he  began,  Sir  Gaston,  surveying  him, 
asked  whether,  about  four  years  back,  he 
was  not  at  Embrun,  in  the  Dauphin6. 

Denying,  that  he  had  been  at  that  place ; 
the  accuser  then  renewed  his  story,  which 
purported,  that  he  and  his  companions 
were  travelling,  about  the  close  of  day, 
through  the  forest,  or  chase,  of  Kenilworth, 
when  they  were  attacked  by  robbers.  He 
was  bidden  to  repeat  the  number  of  them 
and  of  his  company,  which  he  did,  without 
varying  his  tale.  The  King  asked  how 
long  after  sun-set  it  was  when  the  assault 
began  ?  which  he  could  not  readily  tell : 
but  said  it  was  so  nearly  dark,  that  hardly 
could  he  see  the  figures  of  the  robbers 
under  the  shade  of  the  woods,  from  which 
they  burst :  the  merchant  paused  a  mo» 
ment — 


GASTON    DE    BLONDE VILLE.  119 

"  Go  on,"'  said  the  King,  impatiently  : — 

*  But  I  could,  afterwards,  see  them 
plainly  enough  by  a  torch  I  took  from 
my  companions,  who  had  lighted  it,  at 
a  smith's  in  a  village  by  the  way-side ;  an 
iron-smith's." 

The  King  asked  him  if  he  knew  tho 
name  of  this  village,  but  he  knew  it 
not ;  and  whether  he  should  know  the 
smith  again  ?  and  he  answered,  he  thought 
he  should.  Then  he  was  ordered  to  pro- 
ceed with  his  story  : 

"  My  kinsman,"  said  he,  "  was  the  ops- 
one of  us,  who  was  well-armed ;  and  a 
braver  spirit  never  lived.  He  fought  with 
his  sword  that  man,  who  now  stands  be- 
side your  Highness  ;  it  was  a  trusty  wea- 
pon, and  had  done  him  good  service  in 
Syria,  where  he  had  it  for  booty,  after  a 
skirmish,  as  I  heard.  When  my  kinsman 
first  made  up  to  that  man,  I  followed  him 
with  the  torch,  and  to  aid  him,  as  I  might, 


120      2        GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE, 

with  an  oaken  staff  I  had  in  my  hand ; 
but  I  received  a  blow  upon  the  arm,  that 
held  the  torch,  which  was  knocked  to  the 
ground,  and  the  vizor  of  the  man  fell  also, 
that  very  man,  who  now  presses  behind 
your  Highness's  chair.  The  torch  was  not 
extinguished,  and,  by  its  light,  I  plainly 
saw  that  same  countenance,  that  now 
glares  upon  me  so  vengefully.  I  saw  it 
while  he  aimed  the  blow,  which  pene- 
trated the  head  of  my  unfortunate  kins- 
man, Reginald  de  Folville." 

The  merchant  paused,  seemingly  over- 
come by  the  remembrance  of  this  event, 
while  Sir  Gaston  exclaimed,  —  "Was  it 
Reginald  de  Folville  ?  He  was  esquire  to 
a  knight  of  Saint  John,  and  was  then  at 
Lydda:  so  much  for  the  truth  of  your 
story  in  that  main  point." 

At  the  first  words  of  Sir  Gaston,  the 
King  and  the  courtiers  had  turned  their 
faces  upon   him ;  but   though   his   words 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  121 

were  so  strong  and  sufficient,  they  beheld 
in  his  countenance  paleness  and  consterna- 
tion. But  he  soon  recovered;  and,  asking 
pardon  of  his  Highness  for  the  emotion 
with  which  he  had  spoken,  accounted  for 
it  by  saying,  that  Reginald  de  Folville  had 
been  his  earliest  friend. 

"Your  father's  friend,  you  must  surely 
mean,"  said  the  merchant ;  "  for  he  was  at 
the  wars  at  a  time,  that  would  have  made 
that' possible.  You  must  have  been  a  child, 
when  he  went  there." 

"  I  was  then  a  child,"  said  Sir  Gaston, 
averting  his  eyes  from  the  stranger  ;  u  and 
I  must  ever  remember  the  kindness  he 
showed  me  after  the  death  of  my  father ; 
I  owe  him  much.  He  went  from  Pro- 
vence to  Syria ;  I  heard  he  fell  in  battle 
there.  Sure  I  am  he  never  returned  :  he 
died  in  battle  there." 

"  He  died  in  the  forest  of  Ardenn,"  said 
the   merchant    with    solemnity,  "  and  lies 

VOL.    I.  G 


122  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

buried  in  the  priory  of  Saint  Mary  here.  He 
died  by  your  hand :  that  is  his  very  sword 
by  your  side ;  I  remember  it  now." 

The  audacity  of  this  assertion  struck  all 
present  and  none  more  than  the  King  him- 
self. His  Highness  desired  to  examine  the 
sword,  and  asked  the  merchant  why  he 
had  not  sooner  challenged  it ;  to  which  he 
answered  nothing.  Sir  Gaston,  as  he  de- 
livered it  on  his  knee  to  the  King,  said — 
"  If  I  know  my  accuser,  which  I  think  I 
do,  he  is  no  stranger  to  this  weapon  :  he 
knows  well  that  I  usually  wear  it ;  but  it 
never  belonged  to  Reginald  de  Folville. 
My  liege,  it  was  my  father's  sword ;  he 
won  it  in  the  plains  of  Palestine." 

The  King  examined  it  with  attention. 
It  was  of  eastern  shape  and  finely  wrought. 
In  the  hilt  were  a  few  jewels.  Prince 
Edward,  as  he  leaned  over  it,  pointed 
out  to  his  father  a  motto  in  an  unknown 
tongue ;  and  then,  at  some  distance  below 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  123 

it,  a  date,  with  the  Roman  letters,  H,  A., 
remarking,  that  probably  these  letters  al- 
luded to  some  exploit  achieved  in  the  year 
noted.  The  King  addressed  himself  to 
Sir  Gaston  for  the  meaning  of  the  motto 
and  of  these  letters  ;  but  he  knew  not 
their  meaning,  and  said  they  were  as  when 
his  father  won  the  sword  from  his  enemy. 

Then  the  King  addressed  the  merchant 
with  the  same  question,  observing,  that,  as 
the  sword  seemed  to  be  familiar  to  him,  he 
probably  had  been  told  the  signification  of 
the  letters  on  it.  With  that,  the  merchant 
was  hastily  advancing  to  receive  it  of  one, 
to  whom  his  Highness  had  delivered  it; 
when  he  suddenly  drew  back,  covered  his 
eyes  with  his  hand,  and  stood  immovable. 
Those  near  almost  expected  to  see  him  fall, 
as  he  had  done  before  in  the  castle  court 
on  the  night  last  past.  Sir  Gaston,  at  the 
same  time,  stepping  forward,  presumed  to 
take  it,  and  to  deliver  it  again  to  the  King, 
g  2 


124  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

with  these  words  :  — "  Your  Highness  will 
not  tempt  the  villany  of  this  man  by 
putting  him  in  possession  of  the  sword 
he  falsely  claims." 

But  the  merchant  claimed  it  not ;  nor 
could  he  even  endure  to  look  upon  it. 
Heavy  sighs  burst  from  him,  while  with 
eyes  still  covered  with  his  hands,  he  said, — 
"  That  was  the  sword,  with  which  the  vil- 
lain murdered  him ;  and  can  I  endure  to 
take  it  in  my  hand,  and  to  look  upon  the 
blade,  on  which  his  life  blood  flowed  ?"  and 
he  groaned  more  piteously  than  before. 

There  were  some  in  the  hall,  who  in- 
stantly thought  this  sorrow  of  the  mer- 
chant was  a  mimickry,  and  asked  how  it 
could  happen,  that  his  kinsman  was  killed 
by  his  own  weapon  ;  to  which,  soon  as  he 
could  recollect  his  thoughts,  he  made  an- 
swer, that  the  robber,  on  wrenching  the 
sword  from  his  friend,  struck  him  his 
death-wound  with  it.     The  King,  return- 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  125 

ing  the  sword  to  the  young  knight,  bade 
him  keep  it  forthcoming  till  he  should  de- 
mand it  of  him  again,  and  then  said  to  the 
stranger  these  or  such-like  words  : — 

"  You,  a  man  unknown  to  me  and  to 
mine,  and  without  a  name,  except  as  far 
as  you  have  declared  one,  have  dared  to 
come  into  my  court,  and  to  accuse  to  me 
one  of  my  own  servants,  a  gentleman  and 
a  knight,  of  a  crime  most  foul  and  in- 
credible. You  have  related  your  story, 
and  I  have  waited  patiently  for  some  evi- 
dence, that  the  murderer  of  your  kinsman, 
if,  in  truth,  he  were  ever  destroyed  by  vio- 
lence, was  Sir  Gaston  de  Blondeville.  I 
find  none,  except  your  story.  And  in  this 
you  have  not  scrupled  to  affirm,  that  you 
would  have  seized  him  for  the  murderer, 
even  in  a  distant  land,  though  you  also 
say,  that  your  knowledge  of  his  coun- 
tenance was  obtained  only  from  the  sud- 
den (and,  therefore,  the  uncertain)  light  of 


126  GASTON    DE    BLO^DEVILLE. 

a  torch  lying  on  the  ground,  at  a  moment, 
when  the  danger  you  were  yourself  ex- 
posed to,  might,  it  may  be  readily  believed, 
have  prevented  you  from  closely  observing 
any  face  whatsoever.  You  must  be  held 
unworthy  of  credit ;  and  I  commit  you  into 
safe  custody,  till  it  shall  be  discovered 
who  you  are,  and  who  those  are,  who 
urged  you  to  this  base  accusation." 

When  his  Highness  had  ended,  they 
were  going  to  convey  away  the  merchant 
from  his  presence,  but  he  craved  leave  to 
speak,  and  it  was  granted. 

"  My  liege,"  said  he,  "  at  any  other  than 
that  moment  of  horror,  I  might  have  seen 
the  face  of  this  stranger,  without  remem- 
bering it  the  next;  but  the  impression 
made,  at  that  moment,  will  remain  with 
me,  as  long  as  the  strong  feelings,  which 
then  struck  me,  shall  return  with  the  re- 
collection of  my  kinsman's  fate,  On  see- 
ing the  same  face,  I  was  seized  with  the 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  127 

same  horror ;  your  Highness's  people  can 
be  witnesses,  that  yester-eve,  when  I  saw 
that  knight,  I  fell  into  convulsions,  and 
was  carried  senseless  from  your  presence." 

His  Highness,  remembering  what  had 
happened,  and,  on  inquiry,  finding,  that 
this  was  the  very  man,  who  had  then 
fallen  senseless,  perceived,  that  the  mer- 
chant had  not  spoken  this  untruly.  He 
asked  again  whether  he  was  known  to 
any  person  in  Kenilworth,  also  whether 
either  of  the  merchants,  travelling  in  his 
company,  at  the  period  of  the  alleged 
murder,  was  at  hand.  The  accuser  stood, 
for  a  while,  bewildered,  and  then  repeat- 
ing, that  he  was  a  stranger,  having  only 
passed  through  the  place,  a  few  times, 
on  his  way  to  or  from  Coventry,  said,  that 
of  his  two  companions  one  was  dead, 
and  the  other  following  his  merchandize, 
in  a  distant  land. 

u  Then,"  said  the  King,  "  it  appears  you 


128  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

cannot  bring  any  evidence  of  the  truth  of 
your  story ;  even  so  far,  as  that  a  robbery 
was  actually  committed.  Your  accusa- 
tion of  this  knight  is,  therefore,  likely  to 
be  impelled  either  by  malice,  or  by  some 
other  bad  motive.  If  it  shall  prove  so, 
dread  the  punishment  that  awaits  you." 

"  My  liege,"  said  Sir  Gaston,  "  I  think 
I  know  the  man,  and  also  his  motive.  He 
wronged  my  father  at  Embrun;  and  now 
his  malice, — but  this  story  is  connected 
with  family  circumstances,  that  should 
only  be  divulged  to  your  Highness ;  and, 
if  you  will  suffer  me  to  unfold  them  in 
private,  I  shall  prove,  not  mine  innocence 
only — for  of  that  your  Highness  does  not 
doubt — but  that  man's  former  and  present 
guilt." 

At  these  words,  the  stranger  fell  again 
on  his  knees,  and  besought  aloud  justice 
on  "  a  villain." 

The  King  looked  long  upon  him  and 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE,  129 

upon  Sir  Gaston,  and  sat  pondering  awhile. 
He  then  turned  to  the  merchant,  and, 
bidding  him  rise,  asked  him,  a  second 
time,  if  he  were  not  known  to  any  one 
person  in  Kenilworth  ?  and  received  for 
answer,  "  Only  as  a  traveller." 

"  An  adventure  as  remarkable  as  that 
you  have  related,"  pursued  his  Highness, 
"  must  have  been  known  here  at  the  time 
it  happened,  and  must  be  remembered 
now.  It  is  strange,  if  there  be  none  who 
can  recollect  you  also." 

"  My  lord,"  observed  Prince  Edward, 
"  he  said  his  friend  was  buried  here  in 
the  priory.  If  so,  the  prior  must  know 
him  and  his  strange  history." 

•'Said  he  so?"  quoth  the  King;  and, 
turning  to  the  stranger,  he  inquired  how 
it  happened,  that  he  was  not  known  to  the 
prior?  and  who  it  was  that  commanded 
the  burial  of  his  kinsman. 

The  merchant  said,  he  had  himself  or- 
g  5 


130  GASTON    DE    ELONDEVILLE. 

dered  it,  and  had  conversed  with  a  monk 
and  even  with  the  Prior  himself. 

"  Then  you  are  known  to  the  Prior,  at 
least,"  said  the  King  ;  "  he  will  surely  re- 
collect your  story  :  let  him  be  sent  for.  It 
is  strange  you  should  have  said  you  were 
unknown  :  you  are  either  guilty  of  false- 
hood, or  your  senses  are  unsettled." 

The  stranger  raised  his  hand  to  his  head 
and  sighed.  *  I  recollect  the  Prior,"  said 
he,  "  but  he  may  not  remember  me." 

"  We  shall  see  !"  said  the  King,  calmly, 
as  he  rose  from  his  chair :  "  If  you  are 
innocent,  fear  not !  if  you  are  guilty,  you 
will  lose  your  life,  in  seeking  that  of  an 
innocent  mam" 

As  his  Highness  left  the  hall,  he  looked 
somewhat  sternly  upon  the  accuser,  and 
commanded,  that  he  should  be  held  in 
close  custody,  while  more  inquiry  should 
be  made.  He  then  ordered  Sir  Gaston  to 
attend  him  in  his  privy-chamber,  and  so 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  131 

i 

departed   forth    of   the   hall,   leaving   the 
accuser  speechless  and  dismayed. 

As  the  merchant  was  led  through  this 
court  of  the  castle  to  the  tower,  where 
was  his  prison,  the  lady  Barbara,  sitting 
in  her  bower- window  above,  saw  the  pass- 
ing crowd,  and  inquired  the  occasion  of 
it ;  but  none  would  inform  her.  While 
she  gazed  with  curiosity,  she  observed  Sir 
Gaston  going  to  the  King's  privy  ^chamber ; 
he  looked  not  at  her  window,  but  went 
his  way  with  a  hurried  step,  and  with 
such  a  countenance  as  she  had  never  wit- 
nessed in  him,  till  this  time.  At  length, 
word  was  brought  to  my  lady,  her  mother, 
of  what  had  passed  before  his  Highness. 
The  Earl,  her  father,  was  promptly  filled 
with  disgust ;  and  thought  the  occurrence 
would  be  sufficient  to  prevent  the  marri- 
age, which  neither  his  English  heart,  nor 
his  pride  of  ancient  blood,  had  suffered 
him  to  approve.     His  daughter,  the  lady 


132  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

Barbara,  was  differently  minded  ;  she 
would  not  believe  him  she  loved  capable 
of  even  a  dishonourable  action,  much  less 
of  so  foul  a  one  ;  and,  assured  of  his  in- 
nocence, she  would  have  thrown  herself  at 
the  King's  feet,  had  that  seemed  always, 
as  it  did  at  first,  proper,  to  urge  his  High- 
ness to  clear  Sir  Gaston  instantly  from  the 
suspicion. 

But  truly  the  King  needed  no  advocate 
for  Sir  Gaston  de  Blondeville ;  and  so  she 
thought,  at  last.  His  Highness's  own  in- 
clination was  sufficient ;  and  so  angered 
was  his  generous  spirit  by  what  he  held 
to  be  not  only  a  false,  but  a  malicious  ac- 
cusation, that  he  had  determined  after 
proof  of  this,  to  give  a  signal  warning  by 
the  accuser's  doom ;  and  this  not  only 
to  prevent  other  false  accusations  proceed- 
ing from  private  motives,  but  to  reprove 
and  caution  those  of  his  subjects,  who  had 
a  public  prejudice  against  strangers,  and 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  183 

were  too  likely  to  delight  in  the  ruin  of 
such  especially  as  had  risen  to  honours. 

The  King,  therefore,  willingly  gave  au- 
dience privately  to  the  young  knight,  that 
he   might    explain    to    him   the    circum- 
stances,  which  should  assure  him  of  his 
innocence.      What    Sir   Gaston    told    his 
Highness   was    never    assuredly    known  ; 
some  reports  went  on  one  side  of  the  mat- 
ter, some  on  the  other :  there  was  not  one 
witness  of  what  passed.    Who  then  might 
know,  unless  they  could  guess  by  the  coun- 
tenances, and  by  what  passed,  when  the 
hearing  was  over  ?    But,  if  they  had  gone 
by  no  other  guide,  they  would  have  been 
all  for  the  knight,  since  he  had  made  the 
King  quite  convinced ;  and  moreover,  the 
Earl  of  Huntingdon  was  summoned  to  the 
closet,  where  the  King  promised  him  the 
honour  of  the  young  knight  would  always 
remain  unsullied  in   his   opinion  ;  and  so 
commanded,  that  the   marriage  with    the 


154  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

lady  Barbara  should  be  solemnized,  as 
had  been  before  appointed,  on  the  day 
next  following. 

The  Earl  besought,  nay,  as  some  say, 
dared  to  remonstrate,  that  the  marriage 
should  be  postponed  till  the  stranger 
should  have  been  lawfully  convicted  of 
falsehood ;  but  his  Highness  said,  "  Nay ; 
lest  it  should  seem  that  the  accusation 
was  probable  enough  to  require  such  de- 
lay. It  is  already  well-known,  as  a  matter 
agreed  upon,  that  the  nuptials  are  to  be 
held  on  the  morrow,  the  preparations  are 
nearly  all  made,  and  they  are  public.  It  is 
necessary  for  the  honour  of  Sir  Gaston  de 
Blondeville,  that  the  appointment  should 
be  kept.  If  you  are  not  convinced,  still 
you  will  not  be  required  to  make  dis- 
avowal of  any  thought  you  may  have ;  for 
I  myself  will  lead  your  daughter  to  the 
porch,  and  will  so,  by  my  presence  and 
by  this  act  of  parental  kindness,  show  my 


GASTON*    I)E    BLONDEVILLE.  135 

estimation  both  of  the  fair  bride  and  of 
him  who  shall  become  your  son.  Farther 
proof  of  my  regard  shall  not  be  wanting 
hereafter." 

His  Highness  was  peremptory,  and  the 
Earl,  swayed  by  his  master's  positive  opi- 
nion, and,  it  maybe,  by  that  promise  of  re- 
gard hereafter,  at  last  obeyed. 

While  these  things  were  passing  in  the 
King's  chamber,  the  unhappy  merchant 
was  taken  to  a  turret  of  the  castle,  called 
Caesar's  Tower ;  and  there,  with  nothing 
but  a  pallet  and  the  bare  walls,  was  left  to 
think  of  his  jeopardy.  What  his  thoughts 
were  I  know  not ;  but  he  was  heard  sorely 
to  sigh  and  groan,  and  with  good  reason  ; 
for,  if  he  knew  himself  perjured,  he  knew 
also,  that  he  should  find  no  mercy  from  the 
King ;  and,  if  innocent,  he  could  expect 
little  justice  against  so  great  a  favourite. 
But,  whatever  were  his  meditations,  they 
held  not  till  night,  for  he  was  called  and 


136  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

led  forth  of  the  tower  into  the  presence  of 
the  King ;  and,  before  even-song,  the  Prior 
of  Saint  Mary's  was  in  attendance  upon  his 
Highness.  He  was  not  an  aged  man,  yet 
was  he  a  stern  one.  When  he  was  asked 
whether  ever  before  he  had  seen  the  mer- 
chant, he  answered  resolutely,  that  he  had 
no  knowledge  of  him.  The  same  question 
being  put  to  the  merchant,  touching  his 
knowledge  of  the  Prior,  he  returned  a  like 
answer. 

At  this  seeming  self-contradiction,  the 
King  could  scarcely  command  his  anger, 
till  it  was  discovered,  that  a  Prior  of  Saint 
Mary's  had  died,  since  the  time  when  the 
murder  was  alleged  to  have  been  commit- 
ted, and  that  it  must  needs  be  he,  whom 
the  merchant  meant. 

"  But,  where  is  the  monk,  with  whom 
you  consulted  ? "  asked  the  King ;  can  you 
tell  his  name  ?  " 

;t  His  name  was  Ewdwyn,"  replied  the 
merchant. 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  137 

"  He  died  yesternight !"  said  the  Prior. 

At  this  there  was  a  pause,  and  a  dead 
silence  throughout  the  chamber.  Sir  Gas- 
ton looked  darkly  on  his  accuser ;  his 
accuser  directed  his  eyes  to  the  King  and 
then  on  high ;  but,  in  a  short  minute,  he 
fell  down,  as  though  he  were  a  dying  man. 
The  King,  touched  at  his  sufferings,  com- 
manded him  from  his  chamber,  that  aid 
might  be  administered  unto  him.  And 
then,  that  he  might  know  whether  this  ac- 
cusation of  Sir  Gaston  were  through  malice, 
or  mistake— for  now  pity  inclined  him  to 
think  the  last — and  also,  that  Sir  Gaston 
might  have  mistaken,  when  he  took  this 
for  the  man,  of  whose  deeds  at  Embrun  he 
had  talked ;  that  he  might  know  the  truth 
on  all  this,  he  ordered  the  Prior  to  make  in- 
quiry in  his  community,  whether  the  body 
of  any  person  known  to  have  been  mur- 
dered in  the  forest  of  Ardenn,  three  years 
before,  had  been  deposited  in  the  chapel, 
or  in  the  cemetery  of  the  convent.     Like- 


138  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

wise,  he  commanded  the  Prior  to  have 
inquiry  made  in  Kenilworth,  whether  any 
person  remembered  such  an  accident,  or 
any  house  had  received  the  dead  body. 
And  this  he  ordered,  that  it  might  always 
be  seen  he  had  desired  to  have  justice  done 
towards  the  wretched  merchant,  as  well  as 
for  Sir  Gaston  de  Blondeville. 

This  being  appointed,  the  King  departed 
to  his  great  chamber,  there  to  keep  his 
state;  the  Prior  to  his  convent,  to  resume 
his  spiritual  musings  ;  the  accused  lover  to 
his  mistress ;  and  the  merchant  was  con- 
veyed to  his  prison  tower. 

The  King  kept  state,  that  night,  with  the 
Earl  of  Cornwall,  the  Archbishop  of  York, 
the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  the  Bishop  of 
Lincoln,  Henry  de  Wernham,  his  chaplain, 
who  also  had  the  custody  of  the  Great 
Seal,  the  Earl  of  Norfolk,  the  Earl  of  Here- 
ford and  a  number  of  other  nobles  of  the 
realm  ;  but  the  Queen  kept  her  state  apart. 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  139 

The  King's  great  chamber  was  marvel- 
lous to  behold.  There  were  twenty-five 
wax-lights  held  by  esquires  of  the  house- 
hold, all  in  the  King's  livery,  gentils  as  they 
were ;  also  twenty-five  wax  torches  were 
fixed  high  up  over  the  tapestry.  The  walls 
were,  that  night,  gorgeous  with  the  story 
of  Troy-town  in  ancient  tapestries  ;  there 
you  might  see  the  flames  burning  and  the 
towers  falling,  and  old  King  Priam,  with 
heard  as  white  as  snow,  his  crown  upon  his 
head,  and  his  Queen  Hecuba  tearing  her 
dishevelled  locks  for  grief.  And  there  was 
that  renowned  son,  who  carried  off  his 
aged  father,  with  his  little  child  holding 
by  his  garment,  and  his  wife  following,  all 
disconsolate.  This  was  a  piteous  sight  to 
see  pourtrayed ;  but  that  it  were  nothing 
save  a  heathen  story.  — 

The  floor  of  that  chamber  was  not 
strewed  either  with  rushes  or  with  litter  of 
any  sort,  but  was  laid  in  little  checquers 


140  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

of  divers  colours  ;  and,  where  his  Highness 
sat,  under  his  cloth  of  state,  was  spread  a 
silken  carpet  of  full  crimson,  fringed  about 
with  gold,  as  likewise  his  chair  and  canopy 
of  estate.  But  the  finest  sight  was  the  cup- 
boards, piled  up  with  plates  and  cups 
of  gold  and  silver,  in  readiness  for  the 
King,  when  he  should  take  his  voide. 
These  were  in  that  great  Oriel,  which  his 
Highness  had  newly  made  in  this  chamber, 
before  the  bay ;  and  which  was  closed 
about  with  painted  glass  from  the  highest 
cup- board  to  the  arched  roof,  where  hung 
a  silver  lamp,  that  made  the  whole  glow 
with  its  light. 

There  were,  that  night,  piaying  in  the 
chamber,  the  King's  twelve  minstrels,  all 
clothed,  for  his  honour  and  dignity,  in 
sumptuous  livery,  with  their  virger  to 
order  their  pipyngs  and  blowings.  There 
were,  besides,  the  children  of  the  chapel 
singing,  at  times,  from  the  brown  gallery  ; 
so  that,  the  doors  being  open,  you  might 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  141 

have  heard  them  through  all  that  side  of 
the  castle ;  and  those,  who  sat  afar  off  in 
the  great  hall,  needed  none  other  music. 

There  also  was  Maister  Henry,  the  ver- 
sifier, whose  ballad  of  the  Giant  of  Corn- 
wall was  this  night  rehearsed  to  the  harp 
by  Richard,  the  King's  harper,  as  was  his 
famous  Chronicle  of  Charlemagne,  which 
lasted,  till  his  Highness  was  well  nigh 
weary,  when  he  jocularly  called  out,  hav- 
ing tasted  of  his  golden  cup,  that  Henry 
should  have  a  butt  of  wine  w ith  his  wages, 
if  he  would  shorten  his  ballads  by  one-half. 
Maister  Henry,  who  was  a  Frenchman, 
took  this  in  good  part,  and,  having  especial 
care  ever  after  to  make  his  ballads  nigher 
to  too  short  than  too  long,  became,  in  time, 
a  notable  rhymer.  But  let  those  do  so  who 
can.  Some  are  famous  one  way,  some 
another ;  for  mine  own  part,  I  must  be 
circumstantial,  or  else  nothing,  as  this 
"  Trew  Chronique"  in  due  time  must  show. 

That  night,  the  King  played  at  "  Check- 


142  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

ere"  with  the  Earl  of  Norfolk,  on  a  board 
laid  with  jasper  and  chrystal,  the  check- 
men  being  of  the  same.  Some  said  the 
king's  and  queens  were  of  ebony,  studded 
over  with  jewels,  but  of  this  I  know  not. 

But,  the  finest  sight  of  all  was  the  going 
of  the  chamberlain  to  the  cupboard,  ac- 
companied of  three  nobles  of  the  highest 
estate  in  the  realm,  that  were  there  pre- 
sent, (save  the  King's  family)  to  receive  the 
King's  cup  and  spice-plates  ;  and  then  the 
bringing  up  of  the  voide  before  his  High- 
ness. And,  first,  the  usher,  having  assem- 
bled the  King's  sewers,  their  towels  about 
their  necks,  with  the  four  esquires  of  the 
body  and  the  knights  and  esquires  of  the 
household,  to  the  number  of  seventeen ; 
these,  with  divers  other  officers,  being  met 
at  the  cup-board,  the  Chamberlain  took 
the  King's  towel,  and,  having  kissed  it,  as 
the  custom  is,  delivered  it  to  the  Earl  of 
Norfolk,  he  being  of  the  highest  estate, 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  143 

who  reverently  received  the  same,  and  laid 
it  safely  upon  his  shoulder.  Then,  the  said 
chamberlain  gave  the  gold  spice-plates  co- 
vered to  the  Earl  of  Hereford ;  and  then 
the  King's  cup  of  massive  gold,  covered 
also,  to  the  Earl  of  Warwick.  At  the 
same  time  were  given  to  the  knights  of 
the  household  the  Archbishop's  spice- 
plate  and  cup,  covered  also,  to  be  carried 
up,  by  the  space  of  one  minute  after  the 
King's. 

And,  certes,  it  was  a  goodly  sight  to  see 
all  these  nobles  and  gentils  marching  up 
the  great  chamber  (the  minstrels  play- 
ing the  while),  compassed  about  with  es- 
quires, bearing  great  lights  to  the  number 
of  thirteen,  especial  care  being  taken,  as 
the  manner  all  times  has  been  at  the  voide, 
that  the  lights  were  odd  in  number. 

First,  then,  went  the  usher,  with  his 
torch  and  rod,  making  passage ;  the 
chamberlain,  with  his   chain  and  wand  of 


144  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

office  ;  then  the  five  esquires,  of  the  body, 
bearing  wax-lights  before  the  Earl  of  Nor- 
folk, with  the  towel ;  then,  three  esquires 
about  the  Lord  of  Hereford,  bearing  the 
spice-plates  ;  then,  other  three  before  the 
Lord  Warwick,  bearing  the  King's  cup  co- 
vered ;  then  followed  one  knight  of  the 
household,  bearing  a  single  torch ;  so 
making  up  altogether  the  just  number  of 
lights.  Amongst  them  went  four  knights 
of  the  household,  well  renowned  for  brav- 
ery and  noble  bearing,  with  the  Archbish- 
op's spice-plate  and  cup. 

When  this  array  drew  near  to  the  King, 
he,  standing  up  under  his  cloth  of  estate, 
which  was  rolled  up  high,  with  the  young 
Prince  Edward  on  one  hand  and  the- 
Archbishop  on  the  other,  the  Chamberlain 
taking  the  covers  from  off  the  spice-plates, 
gave  assaye  unto  the  Earl  of  Gloucester. 
The  King,  before  he  took  his  spice,  made 
a  beck  to  the  Archbishop,  that  he  should 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  s  145 

take  his  first ;  and  the  knights  having 
advanced,  as  they  well  knew  would  be 
seemly,  the  Archbishop  forthwith  obeyed. 
But,  when  the  Chamberlain  uncovered 
the  cup,  all  the  minstrels  in  the  chamber 
blew  up  louder  than  ever,  and  so  held  on 
till  his  Highness  took  the  ypocras,  so  that 
every  roof  in  the  castle  rung  with  joy. 

The  King  and  Archbishop  being  served, 
his  Highness's    cup  and  spice-plates  were 
again  covered,  but  not  so  the  Archbishop's. 
Then  were  the  spice  and  cup  carried  to 
Prince  Edward    and  the    Earl    of   Corn- 
wall, by  the  knights ;  to  the  bishops  by  the 
esquires  of  the  household,  and  to  the  other 
estates  by  the  esquires  also.     Which  being 
done,  his  Highness  forthwith  departed  for 
"  all  night,"  the  trumpets  blowing  before 
him.    Then,  were  three  healths  drank,  one 
to  the  King,  one  to  the  Queen,  and  one 
to  the  Prince    Edward ;    after   which   it 
were  not  meet,  that  the  assemblage  should 
vol.  I.  H 


146  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

remain,   and   straight  the  great  chamber 
was  avoyded  of  all  there  present. 

The  Queen,  that  night,  sat  in  her  bower 
with  all  her  ladies.  There  were  mynstrel- 
sy  and  dancing  to  the  harp  and  viol.  The 
Lady  Barbara  was  the  marveil  of  all,  that 
beheld  her  moving  to  the  sound  of  viols 
like  unto  some  sprite,  rather  than  to  a  poor 
mortal.  Prince  Edward  danced  with  her 
a  round,  and  the  Queen  often  honoured 
her  with  her  pleasing  speech.  Sir  Gaston, 
though  he  beheld  her,  showed  not  his 
wonted  joy.  He  stood  apart  looking  on, 
and,  when  her  Highness  spoke  to  him,  he 
seemed  nigh  to  senseless  of  the  honour. 

The  dancing  being  ended,  Pierre,  a 
Norman  and  the  Queen's  chief  minstrel, 
apparelled  in  the  guise  of  his  country, 
sang  some  of  his  ballads  on  the  harp,  in 
his  own  tongue,  which,  albeit,  they  were 
not  esteemed  like  unto  Maister  Henry's, 
yet  did  they  not  displease.    The  first  tuning 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  147 

was  in  words  which  have  been  thus  ren- 
dered into  English  by  one,  who  had 
learned  much  of  the  new  speech,  not  then 
familiar,  except  with  some  few. 

THE  BRIDAL. 

Lightly,  lightly,  bounded  the  roe, 
The  hind  o'er  the  forest  was  fleeing  ; 

The  small  birds  tuned  on  every  bough, 
In  sun  and  shade  their  gleeing. 

And  purple  cups,  and  silver  bells 

From  the  green  leaves  were  peeping ; 

The  wild-rose  smiled  in  the  mossy  dells  : 
Nought  but  the  thorn  was  weeping. 

And  so  bright  in  the  sun  its  tears  did  shine, 
They  showed  like  tears  of  pleasure  ; 

And  the  airs  of  May,  through  the  budding  spray, 
Breathed  joyance,  without  measure. 

For  this  was  Isabel's  bridal  morn 

Who  loved  each  bud  and  flower, 
The  wild- wood  shade,  the  mountain  head, 

The  deep  vale's  mead  and  bower. 
H  2 


148  GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE. 

And  now  was  her  festival  gaily  kept 

By  hagled  brook  and  fountain, 
From  the  low  green  bank,  where  the  violet  slept. 

To  the  blue  hill-top  and  mountain. 

And  lightly,  lightly,  bounded  the  roe, 
His  footstep  wing'd  with  pleasure, 

And  small  birds  sang  from  every  bough, 
Welcomes  beyond  all  measure. 


At  the  end  of  this  ballad,  the  minstrel 
rang  out  his  harp  in  full  joyance  ;  and 
then,  falling  note  by  note,  he  dropped  into 
a  faltering  murmur,  as  of  deep  sorrow, 
and  so  continued  for  some  space,  till  those 
who  heard  him,  perceived  the  witch  of  me- 
lancholy stealing  upon  them. 

The  Queen,  deeming  such  strain  unsuit- 
able to  the  time,  commanded  him  to  change 
the  measure,  and  sound  forth  one  more 
gay,  a  lay  of  Provence,  her  native  land, 
whither  she  knew  he  had  been  for  his 
learning ;  but  he,  enthralled  by  the  magic 


GASTON    DE    HLONDEVILLE.  149 

of  his  own  mood,  loving  not  to  be  com- 
manded, still  hung  his  head  over  the  harp, 
listening  to  that  pleasure-full  melancholy 
and  heeding  nothing  but  its  sweet  sound. 

At  last,  being  made  to  know  fully 
her  Highness's  will,  he  sang  the  song  of 
a  Troubadour ;  for,  though  he  loved  best 
the  ditties  of  Normandy,  his  own  land, 
there  was  scarce  one  of  Provence,  which 
he  had  not  gained  ;  and  the  Queen  did 
not  let  him  forget  them,  so  often  did 
she  command  those,  which  she  affect- 
ed best.  And  now  he  sang  forth  to 
his  harp  a  "  roundel"  in  the  Provencal 
tongue,  made  by  a  knight  of  the  "  Order 
of  Fine  Eyes."  They,  who  then  heard 
him,  would  have  thought  he  loved  any 
thing  less  than  melancholy,  so  light  and 
debonnaire  was  the  music  he  rang  out ; 
and  many  could  hardly  keep  their  steps 
from  dancing  to  that  gallant  measure. 
But   it   lasted    not    long;    for,  making    a 


150  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

pause  and  looking  wistfully  at  the  Lady 
Barbara,  he  struck  forth,  on  a  sudden, 
some  of  his  deepest  tones,  with  a  wild  yet 
solemn  grace,  such  as  brought  tears  into 
the  eyes  of  many  a  fair  lady,  and  darted 
dread  into  the  heart  of  one  there  present. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  shadows  of  prophecy 
were  moving  over  the  strings,  and  calling 
from  them  some  strange  and  fearful  story 
yet  to  be.  And  then  again  did  the  har- 
per's voice  steal  trembling  forth,  as  do  the 
moon's  beams,  when  pale  clouds  pass  over, 
saddening,  but  not  fully  obscuring  their 
brightness  :  yet  might  every  one  hear  plain- 
ly all  his  words.  Here  it  is  done  into 
English  by  the  same  hand ;  but  the  verses 
be  not  all  divided  into  equal  numbers : — 

i. 

O'er  the  high  western  wolds  afar,, 
Glimmer'd  some  lights  of  yesterday  ; 

And  there,  one  bright,  but  trembling  star 
Among  the  streaky  shadows  lay. 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  151 

The  traveller's  lonely  warning. 
But  soon  the  winds,  that  sing  day's  dirge, 
Did  o'er  that  star  the  shadows  urge, 

And  hung  the  night  with  mourning  ! 


"  What  steps  on  the  waste  are  beating?" 
He  listened  not  long  on  the  ground, 
'Ere  he  fearfully  heard  a  sound, 

As  of  trampling  hoofs  retreating : 

And  a  dismal  cry  and  a  foot  draw  nigh  ; 

"  Stand  ho  !"  'twas  an  armed  man  passed  by  : 
But  he  spoke  no  sound  of  greeting, 
And  seemed  like  a  death-shade  fleeting. 

in. 

O'er  the  lone  mountains  riding, 

He  gallop'd  by  gloomsome  ways, 
Where  night-mists  were  abiding, 

Round  the  witch  of  evil  days  : 
Her  name  is  written  on  the  wind, 
That  speaks  in  cliffs  and  caves  confin'd. 

List  there  when  the  waning  moon  goes  down, 

And  thou  'It  hear  the  call  her  spirits  own  ; 
But  as  they  pass,  hold  a  chrystal  glass, 

Or  thou 'It  sorely  rue  the  wild  witch-tone. 


152  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

IV. 

O'er  the  lone  mountains  riding, 

From  a  distant  land  he  came, 
No  step  his  dark  step  guiding  ; 

But  he  thought  he  saw  a  flame, 

That  bright,  or  dim,  would  sport  awhile ; 

Then  vanish,  as  in  very  guile ; 
He  heard,  as  he  passed,  the  witch-name  sound  ; 
And  his  startled  steed,  at  a  single  bound, 
Bore  him  away  from  that  evil  ground. 


But  o'er  the  mountains  pacing 

As  fast  as  he  can  flee, 
Strange  steps  his  steps  are  tracing, 

And  a  shape  he  cannot  see ; 
And,  though  he  flee  away,  so  prest, 
Whether  to  north,  or  south  or  west, 

Toward  the  past,  or  coming  day, 

(So  dim  the  night  he  may  not  say) 
Still  oft  by  fits  did  ghastly  gleam, 
A  corpse-light,  all  unknown  to  him. 


He  followed  the  light  o'er  deserts  wide, 

Down  in  deep  glens,  where  wild  becks  wail  : 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  153 

He  followed  by  darkened  forest  side ; 

He  followed  with  dread,  though  link'd  in  mail ; 
Till  it  stayed  before  an  iron  gate, 
Where  battled  turrets  kept  their  state, 

O'er  towers  so  high  and  massy  strong, 

They  seemed  to  giant-king  belong. 


Sir  Adomar  looked  him  all  around  : 
Turret  on  turret  hung  on  high, 
Shaping  black  lines  on  the  dim  sky  ; 

Sir  Adomar  looked  him  all  around  ; 
Nought,  save  this  castle,  could  he  spy, 

Though,  heavily  clanged  a  death-bell's  sound ; 
And  in  each  pause  of  the  shuddering  blast, 
Moans  were  heard  as  of  one  from'neath  the  ground ! 

VIII. 

He  struck  on  the  gate  with  his  good  sword  : 
"  Ho  !  wardour,  ho  !"  but  never  a  word 
Return'd  the  wardour  from  within. 

"  The  storm  is  loud,  the  night  is  dark, 

I  hear  from  the  woods  the  dog- wolf  bark. 
Up,  wardour,  up !  it  were  a  sin 

To  turn  a  traveller  from  your  tower, 

At  such  a  lone  and  dreary  hour  ; 
A  Saracen  would  let  me  in  !" 

h  5 


154  GASTON    DE    BLONDE VILLE, 


The  wardour  was  watching  through  the  loop, 
How  many  were  of  the  stranger's  troop. 
He  had  left  his  torch  in  the  cullis'  bar, 
And  it  let  down  a  light  on  the  lonely  night. 

That  showed  him  harnessed,  as  for  war. 
His  coat  was  mail,  his  helm  was  steel ; 
His  visor  did  his  look  reveal ; 
Yet  o'er  his  brow  it  cast  a  shade, 
That  made  the  wardour  more  afraid, 
Than  did  the  crimsoned  plume  above, 
Or  the  mighty  grasp  of  his  iron  glove, 
He  would  not  let  the  stranger  in, 
Till  one,  awakened  by  the  din — 
One  whom  the  wardour  need  obey — 
Seeing  a  lonely  knight  stand  there, 
Bade  the  wardour  nought  to  fear : 
He  feared  still,  but  he  said  not  Nay  : 
Yet  he  would  not  ope  the  portal  gate 
To  an  unknown  knight,  without  his  state  ; 
For  neither  squire,  nor  page,  he  saw  : 
He  bade  him  then  to  the  postern  draw: 

x. 

The  knight  dismounted  at  the  call ; 
The  porter  let  him  through  the  wall ; 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  155 

He  turned  the  weary  steed  to  stall, 

And  led  the  knight  to  the  lordly  hall. 

P  the  lordly  hall,  so  wide  and  dim, 

One  drowsy  squire  awaited  him. 

The  ashy  wood  lay,  white  and  cold, 

On  the  raised  hearth,  where  late  was  told, 

With  fiery  eye  and  accent  loud, 

The  deed  of  martial  prowess  proud ; 

Where  late  was  told,  in  whispers  low, 

Some  tale  of  terror  and  of  woe, 

The  while  each  listener  bent  his  head, 

Xor  lost  a  word  the  trouveur  said : 

Till  fear  crept  o'er  each  nerve  and  vein, 

That  late  had  swell'd  to  martial  strain  ; 

And  shadows  crept  along  the  wall, 

Such  as  the  sinful  soul  appal  : 

Till  each,  who  heard,  look'd  round  with  dread, 

And  saw  some  phantom  of  the  dead. 

XI. 

Now  silent  was  the  hearth  and  lone, 
Save  that  a  stag-hound  slumber'd  there. 
The  tables  in  disorder  were, 
With  relics  of  the  evening  fare ; 

The  household  to  their  rest  were  gone, 


156  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVTLLE. 

And  now  no  light  was  seen  but  one, 
The  light  that  led  the  stranger  on  ; 
That  show'd  above  steel  armour  gleaming, 
And  many  a  dusky  banner  streaming, 

From  the  black  rafters  of  the  roof, 

In  the  night- wind,  far  aloof, 
Like  to  some  flitting  phantom  seeming ; 

And,  stalking  o'er  the  rushy  floor, 

It  showed  the  knight  where  steps  of  gore 
Had  stain'd  its  green,  with  foot-prints  red. 
And  the  stag-hound,  as  the  knight  passed  by, 
Sent  forth  a  mournful  fearful  cry. 


The  drowsy  squire  the  stranger  led  ; 
(The  wardour  to  his  post  was  sped.) 
They  traversed  the  hall  in  silent  march  : 
At  the  end  was  a  door  in  a  mitred  arch. 
The  knight  stood  before  that  mitred  door, 

And  gazed  on  a  warrior  shape  above, 
That  seem'd  to  watch  the  passage  o'er. 

In  his  altered  look  strange  passions  strove 
The  armoured  shape  leaned  on  its  sword, 

And  downward  bent  its  steely  face, 

As  jealous  who  below  might  pace, 
Or  about  to  speak  the  challenge- word ; 


GASTON    DE    BLONDE  VI LLE.  15' 

And  it  seemed  the  very  form  of  one, 
The  knight  perforce  must  look  upon. 


Thus,  while  he  stood  in  wonder-trance, 
The  squire  upheld  the  torch  on  high, 
Viewing  the  guest  with  watchful  eye  ; 
And  marvelling  what  strange  mischance 
So  check' d  his  step,  and  fix'd  his  glance : — 
"  Sir  knight,  why  gaze  you  on  that  steel  ? 
It  is  a  baron's  good  and  bold ; 
Had  he  been  here,  no  welcome  cold 
Would  he  have  shown  a  stranger-knight, 
Who  trusted  to  his  towers  at  night." 

xiv. 
The  spell  of  fant'sie  loos'd  awhile, 
The  knight  return' d  a  grateful  smile, 
With  thanks  for  this  so  courteous  style; 
And,  then  with  thoughtful  accent  said, 

While  yet  he  stood,  that  shape  before, 
"  The  armour  some  resemblance  had 

To  that  of  a  dear  friend  no  more  ! 
A  friend  !" — he  paus'd, — "  a  friend  long  dead  !' 
This,  while  he  said,  his  colour  fled. 
The  squire  seem'd  not  to  note  his  pain, 
But,  with  fair  speech,  began  again 


158  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

Excuse  to  make  for  slender  fare, 

That  it  was  night,  and,  not  aware 

Of  honour' d  guest  approaching  there, 

The  menials  to  their  rest  had  gone  ; 

A  chamber  should  be  fitted  soon. 

His  squire  and  page  should  welcomed  be  ; 

Right  well  he  longed  that  squire  to  see. 

xv. 

The  wearied  knight  a  gesture  made, 

And  looked  his  thanks,  but  nothing  said ; 

Save  that,  for  rest  alone  he  prayed. 

He  sighed,  as  through  that  guarded  arch, 

And  vaulted  gloom,  he  held  his  march  ; 

And  there,  before  his  doubting  sight, 

Glided  again  a  pale  sad  light, 

Full  often  he  had  seen  with  fear, 

Yet  more  he  felt  to  meet  it  here. 

Then  came  they  to  an  iron  door, 

And  the  knight  beheld  that  flame  no  more. 

It  opened  to  a  second  hall, 

Where  warriors  frowned  upon  the  wall ; 

And  ladies  smiled  in  portraiture, 

With  downcast  eye  and  look  demure. 

An  umbered  flash  the  red  torch  threw, 

Athwart  each  warrior's  steadfast  brow ; 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  159 

And  hardly  might  the  gleam  declare 
A  baron  grim  from  lady  fair. 


There  is  no  need  that  I  should  tell, 

What  hasty  fare  the  stranger  took ; 

Nor  how  the  squire,  with  silent  look, 
Watched,  wondering,  what  had  him  befell ; 
So  strangely  gleamed  his  hollow  eyes, 

From  forth  the  lifted  beaver's  shade 
So  wan  his  lips,  like  one  that  dies, 

So  few  the  words  and  thanks  he  paid ! 

XVII. 

Though  round  the  hall  his  looks  would  steal, 
Not  well  did  torch  or  lamp  reveal 
The  portraiture  of  warriors  grim, 
Or  noble  dames  hung  there  so  dim  ; 
Their  frowns  and  smiles  were  lost  to  him. 
But  once,  when  that  he  turned  his  head 
Where  the  fix'd  torch  a  gleaming  shed, 
A  sable  form,  ill  seen  at  most, 
Went  gliding  up  a  stair,  on  high, 
Passed  through  an  open  gallery, 
And  through  a  door-way  there  was  lost, 
That  seemed  to  lead  to  antient  rooms, 
Such  as  where  silence  dwells,  and  glooms. 


160  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

The  knight,  he  felt  a  sudden  chill, 

Though  nought  he  said  of  what  had  sped ; 
But  the  spicy  draught  he  deeply  quaff'd, 

Whenever  the  page  his  cup  did  fill. 

And  from  his  spirits  chaced  the  ill. 

XVIII. 

The  night-cheer  o'er,  the  page  led  on 

The  stranger  to  his  resting-place. 
He  led  the  way,  that  form  had  gone  : 

On  the  high  stair  he  stood  a  space, 

Waiting  the  knight's  reluctant  pace, 
Then,  with  mute  reverence,  marshalled  him 
Through  many  a  gallery,  long  and  dim, 
Where  helmets  watched,  in  order  grim  ; 
Through  many  a  chamber,  wide  and  lorn, 
Where  wint'ry  damps  had  half  withdrawn 
The  storied  paintings  on  the  wall. 
Electra,  o'er  her  brother's  urn, 
There  bent  the  head,  and  seemed  to  mourn  ; 
There,  too,  as  meet  in  room  and  hall, 
Troy's  tale*  and  Hector's  piteous  fall : 
Here  Priam's  Court,  in  purple  and  pall, 

*  The  "  Tale  of  Troy"  appears  to  have  been  a  very  fa- 
vourite subject  in  ancient  tapestry.  It  occurs  often  in  old 
castles,  and  is  mentioned  twice  in  this  "  Trew  Chronicle," 
as  adorning  the  walls  of  stately  chambers. 


GASTOX    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  161 

Its  golden  splendour  now  had  lost ; 

But  Helen,  on  the  rampart  stood, 
And  pointed  to  the  Grecian  host, 

Out-stretching  to  the  briny  flood. 
Here  Hector's  wife  sat  in  her  bower, 
Waiting  her  lord's  returning  hour  ; 
And  'broidering  'midst  her  maiden  train, 
While  her  infant  played  with  silken  skein. 
There — but  it  boots  not  that  I  say, 
What  stories  once,  in  long  array, 
Lived  on  those  walls,  now  ghastly  clay. 

XIX. 

The  knight  would  oft,  as  he  strode  by, 
Cast  on  their  shade  a  searching  eye ; 
And  pause,  as  list'ning  some  drear  sound, 
That  rose  within  the  glimmering  bound : 
And  start,  as  though  some  fearful  sight 
Passed  along  this  gloom  of  night ; 
But,  at  a  lesser  winding  stair, 
(The  long  drawn  chambers  ended  there,) 
When  to  that  narrow  stair  he  drew, 
He  thought  a  robe  of  mourning  hue 
Went  fleeting  up  that  winding  way ; 
No  glimpse  had  he  of  shape  or  ray  ; 
No  foot  he  heard  the  stair  ascend. 


162  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

Yet  still  that  seeming  garment  passed, 
As  though  some  fiend,  with  evil  haste, 
Did  up  that  lonely  tower  wend. 


The  knight,  he  stood  on  the  step  below — 
"  Whither,  my  young  page,  dost  thou  go  ? 

Who  dwells  within  this  lonely  tower, 
Passing  with  speed,  in  sable  weed — 

Passing  with  speed,  at  this  dead  hour  ?" 
1 '  Nobody,  save  the  raven-crow, 

Dwells  within  this  lonely  tower  ; 

And  here,  Sir  knight,  is  your  resting-bower  !' 
"  But  in  this  tower  I  may  not  rest, 
Till  I  know  who  that  stair  has  pressed ; 
Did  you  not  see  that  black  weed  wave?" 

"  Yes,  knight,  I  saw  the  raven's  wing, 

Glint  up  that  wall  with  sudden  spring : 
And  hark  !  you  now  may  hear  him  crave  !" 


"  It  is  not  courteous,  that  my  bower 
Should  be  within  this  ruin'd  tower  !" 
"  But  see,  knight,  'tis  not  in  decay ; 
The  storm  hath  blown  a  bar  away, 
And  the  raven  through  the  loop  doth  stray 
His  nest  is  wet  on  the  battlement  grey  : 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  163 

Your  chamber  is  a  stately  room, 

Hung  round  with  work  of  choicest  loom  ; 

And  erst  it  was  the  resting-place 

Of  our  dear  Lady  Baroness, 

Before  she  went  to  stranger-land. 

My  lord  yet  strays  on  foreign  strand. 

The  chamber  has  another  stair, 

Leading  to  many  chambers  fair  ; 

But  no  step  goes  by  night  so  far, 

Since  my  lord  baron  went  to  war." 

XXII. 

The  page  stept  on  with  torch  before, 

Far  as  that  stately  chamber's  door. 

"  Page  !  lift  that  light — fain  would  I  know, 

Whither  that  second  flight  doth  go?" 

u  It  goes  to  a  battlement  up  on  high, 

And  to  a  turret  perching  by." 

"  Doth  none  keep  watch  on  that  turret  high  ?" 

"  None,  but  the  raven  with  his  cry  ! 

Your  rest,  Sir  knight,  he  will  not  break  ; 

To  traitors  only  doth  he  speak. 

They  say  he  scents  the  new  spilt  blood." 

Upon  the  stair  the  raven  stood  ! 

He  turn'd  his  dark  eye  on  the  knight, 

And,  screaming,  upward  winged  his  flight. 

The  wondering  page  looked  back  with  fright, 


164  GASTON    DK    BLOXDEVILLE. 

And  met  the  stranger's  fiery  glance  ; 
Then,  hardly  daring  to  advance, 
Lingered  he  at  that  chamber-door  ; 
"  On/'  said  the  knight,  **  with  torch  before  !' 
Scarce  was  the  page  the  threshhold  o'er, 
When  check  he  made,  and  pale  he  turn'd  ; 
Dim  and  more  dim  the  torch-flame  burn'd. 
The  knight  look'd  on,  but  nothing  saw, 
That  might  explain  this  sudden  awe. 


A  spacious  chamber  there  was  spread, 
And,  for  his  rest,  a  stately  bed  ; 
Fresh  rushes  on  the  floor  were  strewn ; 
Faint  on  the  arras'd  walls  were  shown 
The  heroes  of  some  antient  story, 
Now  faded,  like  their  mortal  glory. 
Another  form,  as  dark  as  doom, 
Stood  within  that  chamber's  gloom, 

Unseen  by  those  who  entered  there. 
His  cause  of  dread  the  page  thus  said  : 

"  Methought  I  saw,  within  that  chair, 
The  baron's  self,  my  very  lord ; 
I  saw  it,  on  a  true  man's  word  : 
I  saw  my  lord  return' d  from  far, 
Arrayed,  as  he  went  forth  to  war  ! 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLK.  165 

He  fixed  his  very  eyes  on  me, 

But  looked  not,  as  he  wont  to  look. 
Yet  now  no  living  shape  I  see, 
And  know  that  here  he  could  not  be ; 

For,  long  since,  he  these  walls  forsook : 
Yet  is  it  strange  such  visions  pale, 
Should  o'er  my  waking  sight  prevail." 

XXIV. 

"  Whose  are  these  antient  walls,  I  pray  ?" 

The  sullen  stranger  'gan  to  say  : 

"  Sir,  know  you  not  these  towers  and  halls 

Watch  where  the  foaming  Conway  falls  ? 

Who  should  these  walls  and  towers  own  ? 

And  the  wide  woods  and  forest  round, 

Even  to  Snowdon's  utmost  bound, 

Save  the  brave  lord  of  Eglamore  ?" 

The  knight  explained  his  ignorance, 

He  was  a  wanderer  late  from  France. 

The  page  surveyed  him  o'er  again ; 

He  thought  the  wily  knight  did  feign  : 

A  deadly  hue  was  on  his  cheek  ; 

His  looks  spoke  more  than  words  may  speak. 

Yet  to  the  page,  though  much  it  told, 

He  read  not  all  it  might  unfold. 


166  GASTON    DE    BLONDEV1LLE. 


The  knight  perceived  his  doubting  thought, 

And  drew  a  badge  forth  from  his  breast ; 

Some  noble  Order's  golden  crest, 

Upon  a  field  of  silver  wrought. 

"  This  badge/'  he  said,  "  with  blood  was  bought. 

He  turn'd  with  haughty  frown  away. 

The  page  did  not  more  doubt  betray ; 

But  service  offered  to  undo 

His  casque  and  linked  harness  true  ; 

But  the  stranger  gravely  said  him  Nay, 

And  refused  that  night  to  disarray. 

XXVI. 

Wondering,  yet  fearing  to  demand, 
Why  to  these  towers  from  distant  land, 
The  knight  had  come,  without  his  train, 
Pondered  the  youth  his  doubts  again  ; 
Again,  as  though  his  thoughts  he  read, 
The  knight  look'd  sternly  down  and  said, 
"  My  squire  and  my  foot-page  I  missed 
At  night-fall,  when  the  woods  betwixt. 
But  they  perchance  may  shelter  find, 
From  this  bitter-blowing  wind, 
In  the  deep  hollow  of  some  hill, 
Till  the  dawn  break,  and  the  storm  be  still." 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  167 

XXVII. 

"  But  the  wolf  bays  in  the  blast  afar ; 
Sir  knight,  how  may  they  scape  such  war  ? 
I  hear  him  now — he  nearer  howls ! 
Mercy  !  mercy  !  save  their  souls  !" 
"  Hark  !"  said  the  knight,  and  stood  aghast ; 
It  was  no  wolf-howl  in  the  blast ; 
It  was  a  blood-hound's  dreadful  bay, 
The  stranger  heard,  with  such  dismay — 
The  blood-hound  at  the  tower  below ; 
That  over  pathless  hill  and  dale, 
Had  tracked  a  murderer  in  the  gale, 
And  came  to  claim  his  master's  foe. 
While  listening  to  the  lengthen'd  yell, 
The  stranger  seemed  to  hear  his  knell. 
"  A  blood-hound  loose,  and  at  this  hour ! 
Your  rest,  sir  knight,  had  ill  been  kept ; 
Nor  one  within  these  gates  had  slept, 
Had  I  been  in  my  distant  tower." 
The  page  he  lighted  a  lamp  on  high  ; 
The  stranger  stifled  scarce  a  sigh, 
That  heavily  for  utterance  pressed. 
He  heard  the  page's  steps  descend, 
And  go  where  the  long  chambers  bend, 
Down  to  the  halls,  and  th'  outer  walls. 


168  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

The  page  knew  not  the  chance  he  ran ; 

He  was  marked  with  the  blood  of  a  murder'd  man ! 


The  knight,  he  listened  in  silent  dread, 

Till  now,  the  blood-hound's  voice  was  stilled 
But  soon  a  low  voice  near  him  sped, 

That  every  nerve  with  horror  thrilled. 
He  looked  the  way  that  lone  voice  came, 
And  saw,  by  the  lamp's  tall  spiring  flame, 
A  portraiture  on  the  wall  beneath, 
Of  noble  dame,  that  seemed  to  breathe. 
Robed  in  sable  weeds  was  she  : 

The  gleam  fell  on  that  lady's  brow ; 
There,  written  dimly,  you  might  see, 

The  characters  of  hopeless  woe. 

XXIX. 

Soon  as  that  lady's  face  he  saw, 

All  other  dread  his  heart  forsook  ; 
He  gazed  with  fixt  and  frenzied  awe, 

And  vainly  tried  away  to  look  : 
For  to  his  fearful  sight  it  seemed, 

As  though  her  eyes  on  his  were  bent ; 
And,  where  the  pale  flame  wavering  gleamed, 

As  if  her  varying  cheek  were  blent 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  169 

With  lights  and  shades  of  death ; 
While  round  her  lips  a  grim  smile  drew, 
And  the  rose  paled  that  on  them  blew ; 

And,  with  faint  lingering  breath, 
"  Prepare/'  she  said,  "  thy  hour  is  nigh  ! 
Unpitying,  thou  hast  seen  me  die ; 
Unpitied  be  thy  mortal  sigh  !" 

XXX. 

He  heard  the  words — the  words  alone  ; 
He  heard  not  that  deep  solemn  groan ; 
He  heard  not  the  clang  of  the  'larum  bell, 
Xor  from  the  gates  that  horn -blast  swell ; 
Xor  heard  the  many-trampling  hoofs, 

Xor  voices  calling  in  the  gale, 
And  ringing  round  the  castle  roofs, 

Till  they  made  the  'battled  raven  quail  ; 
Xor  heard  the  funeral  shriek,  that  broke 
Through  every  hall  and  lofty  tower  ; 
He  heard  alone  the  words  she  spoke. 

XXXI. 

Xor  saw  he  in  the  court  below, 
Bv  the  torches'  umbered  glow, 
Borne  upon  his  bleeding  bier, 

With  wounds  unclosed  and  open  eyes, 
A  warrior  stretched  in  death  draw  near  ; 

Nor  heard  the  loud  and  louder  cries, 
VOL.    I.  I 


170  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE 

This  piteous  sight  of  horror  drew 
From  every  friend  and  vassal  true. 
But  he  knew  that  voice  at  his  chamber-door. 
And  straight  the  witch-veil  of  glamour 
Falls,  and  his  wonder-trance  is  o'er. 
He  hears  his  summons  in  that  sound ; 
It  is  the  bark  of  the  true  blood-hound. 
True  to  his  murdered  lord  is  he  ; 
He  has  traced  the  steps  he  could  not  see- 
Traced  them  o'er  darkened  miles  and  miles., 
O'er  glen  and  mountain,  wood  and  moor, 
Through  all  their  swift  and  winding  wiles. 
Till  he  stopped  before  his  master's  door, 
And  bayed  the  murderer  in  his  bower. 

XXXII. 

The  castle  gates  were  strait  unbarred, 

And  he  sprang  before  his  bleeding  lord  ; 

He  passed  the  page  unheeded  by, 

And  tracked  the  stranger's  steps  on  high  ; 

Till  at  the  door,  that  closed  him  in, 

Loud  and  dread  became  his  din. 

The  doors  are  burst,  and  the  spectre-light 

Betrayeth  the  form  of  the  blood-tracked  knight 

He  was  armed  all  over  in  coat  of  mail, 

But  nothing  did  steel  that  night  avail ; 

He  fell  a  torn  corpse,  beside  that  chair, 

Whereunto  the  page  did  late  appear, 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  171 

By  the  dark  glarnour-art  revealed. 
His  murdered  lord  with  lance  and  shield. 
The  murderer  fell,  and  his  death- wound  found 
In  the  terrible  fangs  of  the  true  blood-hound. 


Here  the  voice  of  the  minstrel  ceased  ; 
and,  after  striking  a  few  notes  of  his  harp, 
full  and  deep,  he  rested  with  a  look  of 
sorrow.     His    eyes    dwelt    on    the    Lad}- 
Barbara — but  she  heeded  him   not ;   but 
sat  with  head  inclined,  as  if  still  listening 
to  his  dismal  tale.    There  followed  a  dread 
silence  in  the  room,  as  of  expectation  of 
that  which  was  to   follow.     Some    there 
were,    who    said   the    ditty    was    already 
ended;  yet  they  would  fain  have    heard 
something  of  the  pitiful  history  of  that  un- 
happy lady,  whose  portraiture  was  in  the 
tower-chamber,    and  would   have    known 
what  was  the  guilty  motive  of  the  knight 
against  the  Lord  of  Eglamore  ;  and  how 
it  chanced  he  came  so  unwittingly  to  his 
I  2 


172  GASTON    DE    BLOND  EVILLE. 

castle.  Others  there  were  then  present, 
who,  having  noticed  the  young  Gaston 
de  Blondeville  to  he  ill  at  ease,  the 
while  the  minstrel  sung,  and  being,  per- 
chance, already  moved  by  the  merchant's 
strange  accusation,  scrupled  not  to  think 
the  story  touched  him  nearly  ;  and  that 
Pierre  rested,  not  because  his  ditty  was 
at  an  end,  or  from  weariness  ;  but  that 
he  doubted  whether  it  would  be  well  to 
proceed  to  the  second  part. 

However  this  may  be,  he  needed  not 
have  stayed  his  strain,  for  Sir  Gaston  was 
no  longer  in  the  chamber.  Whether 
Pierre  knew  this  or  not,  he  began  once 
more  to  strike  upon  the  harp ;  when,  on 
a  sudden,  the  king's  trumpets  were  heard 
blowing  up  near  the  stair  ;  and  anon,  his 
Highness  entered  the  bower,  it  being  al- 
most time  that  he  should  go  to  his  rest 
for  "  all-night." 

There  was   no   more   harping :    Pierre 


GASTON    DE    BLOND EVILLE.  17o 

tuning  not  up  his  second  fit ;  and  belike, 
if  his  Highness  had  been  there  at  first, 
he  would  have  bidden  him  to  shorten 
his  ballad  by  one-half. 

The  King  looked  about  for  Sir  Gaston  ; 
and,  espying  him  not,  asked  wherefore  he 
was  not  there  ;  but,  before  any  answer 
could  be  given,  the  knight  had  returned, 
and  now  approached  his  Highness.  He 
was  then  commanded  to  dance  a  round 
with  the  Lady  Barbara,  and  he  obeyed  ; 
but  many  there  noted  the  sadness  on  his 
brow,    though    his    steps   were   light    and 

gay. 

A  more  pleasureful  sight  could  not  be 
than  the  Queen's  bower,  as  it  was  at  that 
time,  where  she  sat  in  estate,  under  a 
cloth  of  gold,  her  ladies  standing  about 
her  chair,  and  her  maidens  on  either  hand, 
below  the  steps  of  her  throne;  and  two 
young  damsels  of  surpassing  beauty  and 
richly  bedight,  sitting  on  the  first  step,  at 


374  GASTON    DE    BLONDE VILLE. 

her  feet ;  the  same,  that  were  used  so  to 
sit,  when  her  Highness  kept  state  in  the 
great  hall  at  festivals. 

Behind  them,  half  encircling  the  throne, 
stood  twenty  household  esquires,  holding 
great  wax  torches,  right  richly  beseen  in 
the  king's  livery,  and  proud  to  wear  it, 
gentils  as  they  were,  as  I  said  before,  and 
of  ancient  families  in  the  countries  from 
whence  they  came. 

The  arched  roof  was  curiously  wrought 
in  that  fashion,  which  King  Henry  had 
newly  brought  into  favour ;  and,  besides 
these  lights,  a  great  crystal  lamp,  that 
hung  from  the  roof,  shone  over  the  cham- 
ber and  upon  the  goodly  assemblage,  as 
they  looked  upon  the  Lady  Barbara, 
passing  so  winningly  in  the  dance,  That 
night,  the  Earl  of  Richmond  bore  the 
Queen's  spice-plate,  and  Sir  Philip  de  Kin- 
ton  her  cup. 

When    the  Lady   Barbara    had   ended 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  175 

her  dance,  the  Queen  called  her  to  her 
chair  ;  and,  making  her  take  of  the  sweet- 
meats from  her  own  plate,  spoke  com- 
mendable words  to  her,  as  did  his  High- 
ness King  Henry.  Then  the  Queen,  turn- 
ing to  the  Lady  Gloucester,  took  from  her 
hands  a  girdle,  richly  beset  with  jewels, 
and,  clasping  it  on  the  Lady  Barbara, 
kissed  her,  and  bade  her  wear  it  ever,  for 
her  sake  and  for  her  honour.  Her  High- 
ness then  stretched  out  her  hand  to  Sir 
Gaston,  who,  kneeling,  put  it  to  his  lips. 
"  May  you,  Sir  knight,"  said  her  High- 
ness, "as  well  deserve  this  lady,  as  she 
deserves  this  token  of  my  regard !" 

Then,  the  King  said  many  gracious 
things,  and  seemed  so  merry  of  heart, 
that  he  made  all  around  him  gladsome ; 
till,  the  Voide  being  ended,  he  went  forth 
with  the  Queen,  the  trumpets  blowing 
before  them  ;  and  the  chamber  was  then 
speedily  avoided  for  all  night. 


176  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

While  these  things  were  passing  in  the 
chambers  of  estate,  there  were  divers 
wassailings  and  merriments  making  in 
other  places  of  the  castle.  In  the  great 
hall  were  feasting  and  revelling,  but  not 
of  estate.  There  were  tumblers  and  jug- 
glers and  morrice-dancers  and  mimicks 
and  mummers,  with  pipings  and  blowings, 
that  made  the  roofs  ring. 

The  monks  at  the  priory  heard  them 
afar,  while  at  the  last  even-song,  and  long 
after  ;  and  well  I  wote,  that  had  it  not 
been  the  King's  castle,  there  had  been 
some  rebuke,  as  indeed  due,  for  such 
noise  made.  The  Prior  in  his  chamber 
sat  alone  ;  listening,  I  guess,  in  gloomy 
mood  to  the  revelry ;  and,  all  that  night, 
only  Edmund  the  monk  and  mass  Peter 
with  him :  he  came  not  forth  to  mid- 
night-song. 

But  now  I  must  return,  and  so  must 
ye  that  hear,  or  read,  to  the  castle.     In 


GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE.  177 

the  hall  there  was  a  dancer  on  stilts,  play- 
ing the  while  on  a  recorder  ;  there  were 
dancers  on  one  leg,  and  dancers  upon  the 
head ;  but  that  which  most  rejoiced  many 
of  the  beholders,  were  the  disguisings  and 
the  quaint  antics  of  the  mummers.  There 
came  a  whole  troop,  some  wearing  the 
heads  of  asses,  some  of  bulls,  some  of 
calves,  some  of  cats,  who  brayed  and 
kicked,  bellowed  and  tossed,  scratched 
and  mewed,  to  the  very  life.  Others, 
like  stags  and  hares,  hounds  and  apes, 
kept  not  so  pertinently  to  their  pretended 
natures,  but  marched  on  with  solemn 
state,  as  much  as  might  be,  hand  in  hand, 
as  if  they  had .  been  loving  friends  and 
neighbours ;  yet  each  with  a  dagger  stuck 
in  his  girdle.  And  others  again,  with 
fools'  girdles  and  bells  hanging  to  them ; 
tossing  their  heads,  and  cutting  sucli 
strange  capers,  to  the  noise  of  pipes  and 
drums,    as  made    the    sides    of  many    to 


178  GASTON    DE    BLONDE  VILLE. 

shake  with  laughter,  and  roused  up  every 
hawk  on  perch  there  to  shake  his  bells 
in  concert. 

But  all  this  was  child's  play,  though  it 
was  often  done   before  the  worshipfullest 
estates,  in  comparison  of  the  sayer's  art ; 
which,  when  he  could  be  heard  between 
whiles,  when  the  loud  revelry  paused  and 
held  breath,  was  marvellous  to  hear :  and, 
as  soon   as    those  mad-heads  caught  the 
words    of  that   tale-teller,    sooth    to    say, 
they  soon  were  still  and  hushed,  as  though 
no  living  soul  but  he  breathed  there  ;  lis- 
tening to  his  dismal  tradey,  with  tears  in 
their    eyes,    or    quaking   for   fear    of  the 
strange   things   he   told   them.     He,    the 
while,    with    solemn    visage,   showing  as 
though   he  himself  believed  all  the  mar- 
vels he  related,  and  not  showing  roguish 
smiles,  as  some  do,  kept  on  always  to  the 
far   end  of   his   long  tale :   though    some 
learned   clerks  would  oft-times    comment 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  179 

to  their  neighbours  upon  his  marvels,  as 
if  he  had  purported  lofty  matter  worth 
their  notice,  and  did  not  merely  strive 
to  while  an  idle  tide  away. 

In  other  parts  of  the  castle  were  those 
gentils  and  honest  gentlewomen,  that,  mis- 
liking  the  loud  revelry  of  the  hall,  drew 
together  in  chambers  apart ;  and  delighted 
themselves  with  histories  of  times  past, 
the  sad  hopes  of  lovers,  or  the  deeds  of 
brave  knights,  or  otherwise  in  singing  and 
harping,  after  their  own  manner. 

In  the  lower  hall  too  was  feasting, 
and  the  mirth  did  not  stop  short  of  the 
"  Kuchane,"  so  that  every  man  to  the  low- 
est degree  was  joyous  ;  and  each  chamber 
and  tower  rung  with  song,  or  laughter, 
save  the  prison  tower  of  the  poor  mer- 
chant. He,  as  he  lay  on  his  pallet-bed, 
heard  those  sounds  of  music  and  jollity, 
in  confused  uproar  rising  through  the 
courts,  while  his  heart  was  stricken  with 


180  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

fear  and  sadness ;  for,  whether  he  were 
right  or  not  in  believing  Sir  Gaston  to  be 
the  murderer  of  his  friend,  it  is  certain, 
that  he  had  seen  his  friend  murdered,  and 
that  too,  as  he  had  said,  in  the  woods  of 
Ardenn. 

He  was,  at  this  time,  far  from  his  home 
and  friends,  and  had  been  travelling,  over 
these  parts,  a  lonesome  stranger,  along 
the  foss-way  from  Lincoln,  southward ; 
having  been  on  his  merchandize  into  the 
north  seas,  and  having  landed  on  the 
eastern  coast.  Coming  again  to  that  place, 
where,  a  few  years  back,  he  had  buried 
his  friend,  the  remembrance  of  him  broke 
out  in  fresh  grief;  and,  hearing  that  the 
king  was  coming  to  keep  festival  in  Ken- 
ilworth,  he  resolved  to  break  the  matter 
to  him  ;  as  well  as  to  adventure  to  tell  him, 
the  times  were  such  it  was  no  longer  safe 
to  journey  in  any  part  of  his  kingdom. 

The  most   audacious   robberies,    certes, 


GASTON     DE    BLONDEVILLE.  181 

were  then  committed  at  noon-day  with 
impunity ;  nay,  the  very  thieves  them- 
selves feared  not  to  be  seen  walking  about, 
little  attempt  being  made  to  seize  them, 
or,  in  any  wise,  to  suppress  these  scan- 
dalous outrages.  Not  only  then  did  the 
sad  fall  of  his  friend,  but  also  the  fearful 
condition  of  the  living,  urge  the  merchant 
to  make  the  truth  known  to  the  king. 

With  this  design  he  had  rested  at 
Kenil worth,  but  not  at  the  house  where 
he  had  formerly  suffered  such  affliction ; 
and,  on  the  king's  arrival,  had  gone  forth 
in  the  crowd  to  behold  him,  though  he 
had  not  intended  to  present  his  petition 
in  that  time  of  turmoil.  But,  when  he 
saw  near  his  Highness,  riding  as  it  were 
in  the  top  of  favour,  the  very  man,  whom 
he  thought  to  be  the  slayer  of  his  kins- 
man ;  when  he  beheld  that  look,  which 
he  felt  to  dart  into  his  heart,  and  to  re- 
vive there  all  the  horror  he  had  felt  at  the 


182 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 


aspect  of  the  murderer,  at  the  moment 
when  his  friend  had  been  stricken  down — 
then  it  was,  that,  overcome  by  the  strength 
of  his  feelings,  he  dropped  down  senseless 
in  the  castle  court,  as  hath  been  related. 

And  now,  what  had  he  gained  by  his 
courageous  demand  of  justice  ?  Suspicion, 
contempt,  fear,  grief,  a  prison,  and,  per- 
haps, death.  Yet  did  he  not  repent  the 
effort  he  had  made,  so  honest  was  his 
grief  for  the  fate  of  his  kinsman  ;  so  much 
was  his  mind  possessed  with  the  notion, 
that  he  had  accused  his  very  murderer; 
so  confident  was  he  that  he  was  perform- 
ing a  duty ;  and,  what  is  more,  so  sure 
was  he,  that  to  perform  his  duty  in  this 
world  is  the  wisest,  the  most  truly  cun- 
ning thing  a  man  can  contrive  to  do. 
Whether  his  suspicions  concerning  the 
knight  were  just  or  not ;  these,  his  con- 
clusions touching  his  own  conduct,  none 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  183 

but   fools,  or  villains,  that   is,   none   but 
fools — will  deny. 

Thus  he  lay  on  his  pallet,  alike  deprived 
of  sleep  by  the  jollity  of  others  and  by  his 
own  grievous  reflections.  A  lamp  burned 
beside  him,  but  it  served  only  to  show  the 
forlornness  of  his  condition,  in  this  high 
and  distant  tower.  Sometimes,  he  would 
rise  and  look  through  his  grated  window 
upon  the  inner  court  of  the  castle,  listen- 
ing there  awhile  to  the  distant  min- 
strelsy and  to  the  confusion  of  number- 
less voices,  footsteps  and  closing  doc^s, 
that  rose  from  many  a  chamber  below. 
Anon,  a  torch-bearer  would  pass  the  court, 
a  page,  perhaps,  or  a  yeoman ;  and  would 
show  the  gloomy  towers  above  and  the 
steps  of  the  guest  he  led  at  their  feet. 
But,  this  passed,  nothing  could  the  pri- 
soner see,  save  here  and  there,  a  lamp 
burning  through  a  casement  of  glass  (and 


184  GASTON    DE    BLOXDEVILLE. 

a  goodly  show  there  was  of  such  windows 
now  in  this  castle)  like  stars  through  a 
clouded  sky ;  but  mostly  the  glorious 
beams  of  the  great  hall,  that  struck 
through  the  windows  and  lighted  the  air 
above.  Once  he  heard  the  trumpets  blow, 
and  thought  the  King  was  coming  forth, 
and  once  he  fancied  he  saw,  in  the  person 
of  one  who  followed  a  torch-bearer,  Sir 
Gaston  himself.  Then  turned  he  from  the 
casement,  looked  no  more,  and  fell  upon 
his  pallet. 

j.^t  last,  every  distant  sound  grew  faint- 
er ;  the  noise  of  the  dancers  ceased  ;  then 
the  minstrelsy  sunk  low ;  the  voices  of  the 
hall  revellers  became  few ;  he  heard  less 
frequently  the  doors  opened  and  shut ; 
and  then  he  heard  the  fastening  of  bolts 
and  bars :  and,  afar  off,  the  castle  gates 
closed  for  the  night ;  and  soon  all  grew 
still,  as  though  no  living  creature  inhabited 
there. 


GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE.  185 

And  thus  it  kept,  until  the  wayte  piped 
his  second  watch  in  all  the  courts.     Then 
the    stranger    arose,    and,    looking    again 
through  his  grate,  saw  him  well,  by  the 
light  his  groom  carried,  piping  the  hour. 
And,  when  the  man  had  finished  his  saye, 
he  went  round  the  court,  his  boy-groom 
holding  up  the  torch,  while  he  tried  every 
door,   and    found  that    all  was  safe.     By 
this  light  too,  he  perceived  the  wardour's 
men  on  guard;  but  no  living  being  else 
was  seen.     The  windows  of  the  great  hall 
were  dark  ;  and,  the  torch  being  gone,  no- 
thing glimmered  through  the  night,  save 
one  great  star,  which  wizards  say  is  evil. 
It  stayed,   at  his    hour,  right   over    King 
Henry's  lodgings  ;  but  for  whom  it  watch- 
ed, who  was  there  that  might  tell  ?     The 
prisoner  knew  the  star,  and  all  that  was 
thought  of  it,  and  he  betook  him  to  his 
pallet  groaning  heavily. 

He  had  not  long  been  there,  when,  as 


186  GASTON    DE    BLONDEVILLE. 

he  thought,  a  voice  near  him  spoke  his 
name.  Now,  there  was  a  small  grate 
looked  out  from  his  chamber  upon  the 
stair ;  and  thence  the  voice  seemed  to 
come.  The  prisoner,  raising  himself  from 
his  pallet,  turned,  and  saw  there  the  figure 
of  a  man  passing  away.  He  kept  his  eyes 
fixed,  for  some  space,  upon  the  grate,  but 
the  figure  appeared  no  more,  and  he  sunk 
again  on  his  pallet. 

The  voice,  faint  and  passing  as  it  was, 
had  thrilled  him  with  dread.  Whose  it 
was,  wherefore  it  had  called  him  by  a  name 
known  but  to  few,  and  had  then  passed 
away,  without  communing  with  him,  he 
tried  in  vain  to  understand ;  yet  seemed  it 
not  wholly  new  to  him. 

END   of   vol.   I. 


LONDON : 
PRINTED    BY    S.   AND    R.    BENTLEY,    DORSET-STREET. 


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